Hermione Granger and The Lost Vault
by xXxUrsulaDerwentTheAurorxXx
Summary: Seven years past Hogwarts and the awful war that devastated the Wizarding community which Hermione helped to rebuild, she finds herself immersed in a Historical project to answer the questions she's asked for years... where does the magic come from? Why her? And why the ignorant school boy her project now financially depends on, after all these years?
1. Chapter 1: The Touch of Gray

The green flame burned against the gold of the sparking catch beneath it. The temperature gage beneath it rose gradually upward until it plateaued in the center. Slowly, Hermione pushed her kettle holder toward the flame until it danced underneath its dark belly. She held her breath as the water began to boil. Steam rose from the water. Its colors swirled inside until they folded into a deep blue shade. The tip of Hermione's poised wand flicked upward, and from the water came a piece of rock no bigger than a sand dollar. Hermione lowered the rock to her work desk. She pulled two black, heat-resistant gloves over her callused hands and picked up her magnifying lens.

"Aparecium," she uttered. Visible now was an ancient language dictating instructions to her. Her eyes scanned it, tilting the rock down. There was a slight seam in the rock where the two parts came together. Gently, she positioned her wand against it.

"Defodio," she whispered, and ever so slightly the rock began to dig in upon itself, showing her its contents. Hermione peered inside the rock and sighed.

"Yes…"

She placed down the rock, pulled her gloves off and wiped the sweat from her brow, reaching to a shelf above her head and pulling out a corked bottle with a swirling solution inside. With care, she poured the solution over the fossil and it began to take shape.

"Come on!"

It followed the contours of the rock producing a convex bubble atop the fossil. She snapped her wand back into her hand and closing her eyes, she moved it left to right.

"Ostendio Magicia Anima," she whispered. She opened her eyes. The solution turned green. Then blue. Then it began to harden. The rock cracked under the expansion of the stuff.

"Shit." She pulled a small hammer from her desk drawer and banged the rest of the rock away from the now crystalized mass. She turned it over. Inside the solution were tiny, white spots like mica on the face of a marble slab. She turned it slowly toward the light and watched the specs flash pink and yellow. She unwound a tendril of curls from the binoculars on her head and pushed them down over her eyes. Looking through them, she smiled. "Now THAT is wicked."

A cup of tea steamed on the desk in the candlelight as Hermione tipped back in her chair rubbing her temples and heaving a sigh. She pushed the binoculars back onto her head.

"Fossilized bit of rose hip leaves from around 2500BC, Greece, were found to be of magical orientation…" She stretched her legs out underneath the desk and the bewitched quill scratched its way down the parchment in her bursting book of notes. "Though I have yet to discover a link between the Hjiji plant of The Ancient Sumer, most often used for regrowth and deep thinking and what is now known as our modern Rosemary herb of NO magical origin, I am convinced that these two things share the same Herbology and history. Where it lost its magical essence is unknown at this time. It should also be documented that the herb of Rosemary is often used in muggle demi-magical purposes to elicit a response which is "unable to be proved" with science, such as through Aromatherapy and Massage." She rubbed her red cheeks and yawned. She glanced at her watch: 2:38AM. "Damn."

For a moment she relaxed, letting the dimly lit room remind her of the sweet relished feeling of closing her eyes. The room swam before her as it hadn't in weeks… the moving photograph of Harry, Ron and she accepting their Modern Day Merlin Awards for their roles in defeating The Dark Lord… beside it, the photo of Harry and Ginny walking the newly one year-old Lily across their kitchen floor. Hermione smiled. Beneath it was the picture Lily had finger-painted "Godmommy Hermy" last year. The reds changed to greens depending on the temperature of her office. It was beginning to collect dust in her carelessness. She looked away. Her degree from Oxford University hung high- crookedly from where the nail had chipped- on the wall above her desk, atop two shelves so full of paperwork and documents they were sure to give way at any moment (had she not thought ahead and reinforced them with a strengthening charm)… Bachelors Degree in Science and Research, Valedictorian- surprising no one, of course... but faking the muggle school transcripts had been a real pain in the arse.

The chair dug its heels in as she pushed it back away from the desk and she scratched up and down her arms, yawning again. She stood up and an orange tabby cat rubbed his way along her shin bones, standing on his tip toes to purr up at her knees. "Bedtime, Crook," she said. He hopped onto her desk chair for a last minute nap. She crossed into the kitchen and opened her empty fridge. The bright light stung her eyes and she searched through what she knew was likely mold and empty boxes to no avail. She sighed and shut the door. The smiling, waving faces of Ron and Cousin Elsa greeted her as she did. She smiled back, casting a look over the last letter they had sent her. They were in America, now, visiting "The Alamo." She could just see Ron now dealing with the traditional views in Southern America. Good grief.

She was so glad she'd introduced those two… long after the awkwardness of she and Ron being on again, off again… after he'd finally worked up the courage to seduce her on New Years Eve those long seven years ago… after waking up to him day after day for four years thinking, "This is what it's like to love your best friend," in contentment, but never really in love… but she was able to forget about the magic, and where it all came from… what it all meant… until she saw him with Elsa. She'd restored her parents' memories as soon as she'd known the threat of The Dark Lord was passed… and after she had, she'd brought her boyfriend home to meet the family, of course! Five years into their relationship, it took seeing the way Elsa had looked at Ron… the way Ron had looked at Elsa. In ways, Elsa and Hermione were very much in common… except for the fact that Elsa was a muggle, of course. Still, she knew what Ron was, and despite the challenges ahead of them, Hermione wouldn't have tried for the world to hold her best friend back from that. She had to let him go, guilty as he may have felt… and she didn't blame him for going. Never would. In a way, she was grateful to know... it's possible for love to feel like _that._ Though, she thought, casting a look into her wayward, lonely, dark bedroom with an unmade bed and only one bedside table… she had been single for far too long. At this point, she could do with some contentment.

She flicked on the bathroom light and looked in the mirror. "Bloody Hell," she whispered. "Am I 25 or 49?" The dark purple blotches covering the bags under her eyes were evidence of her three long weeks of research and documentation. It would all be worth it when it was complete… when she had an answer. She opened up the medicine chest and squeezed some toothpaste onto her toothbrush. Crookshanks slid his head into the doorframe. "You know she was raised by Dentists when she hasn't eaten all day- or touched a spot of hot tea- but feels compelled to brush her teeth before bed." He licked his lips. Her brow furrowed. She ducked her head into the hallway to peer at her desk. A tipped over, empty teacup rolled across the surface. The spoon dangled dangerously on the edge of her pulled out chair. She cast him a look. He headed toward the bedroom.

"At least one of us will have some energy tomorrow morning."

* * *

The alarm buzzed noisily in her ear at a blasphemous 6AM. She grit her teeth and rolled over, removing a pillow from behind her head and smashing it over her ears. Her left hand fumbled for the alarm.

"Not yet…" she pleaded. It continued to buzz. With a crash she sat up. Her newly broken water glass- from Merlin only knew how many days ago- lay in a puddle on the bedroom floor, the alarm only inches from it. "Good morning," she mumbled and hopped up. "Mondere," she waved over her shoulder as she walked to her overwhelmingly dirty laundry basket. The alarm went quiet. She removed a towel from the heap and turned back to the mess that Crookshanks was beginning to circle. The broken glass stood now with all its most sharp, dangerous pieces pointed up toward her in the middle of what looked like twice the water she had originally spilled. She eyed it. "Mondere!" The pieces jumped to surround the puddle like a tiny water fortress of spikes. The alarm clock sparked in the puddle. Crookshanks hissed at it.

"Why is she- dashing, gorgeous- such a very single 25 year old woman, anyway? It's not like she can't keep a clean house…" Crookshanks walked to her feet, sat down and looked up at her. "…Or ever talks to her cat, at all…"

The alarm began to go off again.

* * *

Hermione headed down a busy London street with a coffee cup in one hand a bag full of research in the other. She was going to be very late for work if she wasn't careful, and this project was costing The Department of Magical History and Research a fortune. If she didn't come up with some serious case work soon, they were likely to pull the plug, and the idea of that brought her closer to vomiting than even one of Hagrid's most stony apple dumplings. The last thing she needed was time riding her back.

Stuck waiting for a bus to vacate the crosswalk, she was so close she could spit on it… not that she ever would, mind you. A mother carrying grocery bags and the hand of a small child walked the sidewalk toward Hermione. A harmless but very smelly vagabond Hermione knew well lay sleeping, his face underneath last week's stained newspaper to hide the sun, on the steps of the "No Trespassing," burnt out Public Library. The mother squeezed her daughter's hand as she passed him. He stirred, slipping the paper away from his mouth and wiping it on the back of his sleeve, waking.

"The Hippogriff bows before none so proud, but one who's more likely to be standing…?" He certainly had the child's attention now. The mother stopped for a just a moment, staring at him. She tugged on the child's hand. "Not today, sweetheart. We'll bring him a sandwich tomorrow." Hermione tipped her head down as they passed her. She often questioned the naivety of muggles… was it easy not to see for them because they did not want to? What of the ones who had "a feeling"? She hugged her research closer to her and approached the bum, adjusting himself on the stoop.

"The Hippogriff bows before none so proud, but one who's more likely to be standing—"

"Down," she answered. He smiled.

"Right, Miss. We'll take yer down." And in the blink of an eye she was whizzing through a system of complicated slides, and just as quickly, back on her feet in the lobby of The Department. She adjusted herself to find she had spilled coffee on her right lapel. She cursed.

"Mondere," she muttered. The stain turned bleach white. She frowned. "Better than coffee," she decided and headed to the front desk, the secretary blinking up at her from behind a pair of very thick glasses.

"Hellooo," she crooned at Hermione, smiling genuinely and widely. _God, why can't I feel like that in the morning?_ She thought.

"Hermione Granger to see the Board? I have a meeting at 8:15."

"You _had_ an appointment at 8:15, yes… did you know? It's 8:26 now…." Hermione sighed, glancing at the clock over the boarded up fireplace with a side that read, "Closed for renovations." She nodded toward it.

"Yes, well, without the Floo Network in operation, it was a bit of a challenge to get here this morning, you understand."

"Ah, yes, dear. Budget cutbacks," she smiled apologetically. Hermione winced. _Cutbacks? That cannot be good…. _

One of the two doors behind the secretary opened and Alexander Fishbottle stepped out. He was a long man in his mid-50s with a distended belly as if to indicate his impending motherhood, and he dressed it up well with tailored robes and a shiny golden pocket watch in his front pocket that Hermione secretly loved, for it reminded her of one very like another she used to wear.

"Miss Granger!" he said warmly, throwing his arms up to her. She smiled at him.

"Dr. Fishbottle," she nodded, walking toward him. He ushered her into the board room.

"Yes, yes. Sit down, child!" He called, showing her to her only empty seat at a table that seats 12. They were all here today, weren't they? That never meant anything good.

"Now, before we start today, Dr. Fishbottle, I just wanted to say that I'm aware and very- VERY appreciative of all The Department has done both to aid my research and also fund it while I continue to search for—"

"All business so soon, Miss Granger? I'd much prefer to start the meeting with a simple, "Good Morning," how about you all?" He turned his smile to the rest of the table. About half of them looked as if they really hadn't thought about her opening sentence and would much rather still be enjoying their beds… a smaller percentage seemed happy to hear her gratitude… and the rest much looked like they were ready to send her packing.

"Of course. Good morning, Dr. Fishbottle—The Board. So good to see you all." They grunted their responses toward her. Satisfied, he settled back into his chair to hear her speak. "Now… as to my research-"

"Yes. What is it exactly you're researching, Miss Granger?" A younger witch asked from behind horn-rimmed spectacles which reminded her very much of her favorite professor from school. A little too much, to be true.

"The exact origins of magical energy and all of its many forms."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Well…" Hermione started. It was complicated to explain water to someone who had only ever drank pumpkin juice before. "I'm looking for—I mean, I've FOUND in some cases—the root of the magical essence inside of what is understood to be non-magical materials… to try and find a Warlock Zero: the first case of magical energy within a person, place, or thing, in known historical time, here on this planet."

The man seated next to her, a stuffy younger man of a certain Percy Weasley capacity chortled. "Do you mean to suggest, young lady, that magic in a—what to they call them… a 'toaster oven' can exist in a comparable form to the magic we are born with as wizards?"

"Well, not exactly, I—"

"How about a fossilized bogie from a tyrannosaurus rex?" Now some of the others were beginning to giggle… and he was dead wrong. And she was starting to fume.

"Exactly, Mr.?"

"Doctor. Dr. Henry H. Plume."

"Doctor," she corrected with just a dash of sardonic flavor, "You're quite right. Fossils are the tools I have been using to peer back into the pages of time that predate books, slabs, and written language at all… in some cases, they predate the human form. In others, they go beyond what muggle scientists have spent years determining was the exact time the first dinosaur crawled out of the water and began to live on land. And in some more cases, still…" She plopped her bag on the table and opened it up. Inside, amongst the many papers, were a mortar and pestle, and a protective case for the fossil inside. She placed them on the desk and opened the box. Carefully, she dropped the solid solution filled with dozens of glittering gold and salon lights into the mortar. For a moment, her spectators just watched the lights as they grabbed the light available to them in the room. Without warning, she crammed the pestle into the bowl and began to grind. She ground and ground until a white shimmering powder remained. She poured the powder onto the glass table top and put her hands, palms up, on either side of it. She closed her eyes.

For a moment, silence. And then they began to whisper.

"Are they?"

"Is it… moving?"

The pink and gold glittering lights had begun to sift through the white powder and find their way out. They caught the air as if riding a breeze and landed in Hermione's open hands, where they landed and began to fizzle. Hermione smiled.

An older board member leaned in toward the table. "What is this?"

"The magical energy within the fossil predating mankind is drawn to the magical energy in me. In you. In all of us present, here. When ground to a nearly weightless form, it will travel to where it feels it will be strongest... i.e, with us- humans- the most complex of bodily machines."

Dr. Plume stuck his nose up to her. "And how are we to know that this is not some parlor trick, Miss Granger?" Her hands glowing, she smiled, accepting the challenge.

"Just give me your hands, Dr. Plume." His smile faded away, but he did so. She closed her hands around his, unpleasant as it was, and before their eyes, the hands began to glow. The whispers grew louder. Dr. Plume released her hands, brushing them off on his robes as he did so.

"Could have done without the child's art project stuck beneath my wedding ring, however…"

She rolled her eyes, no longer caring if he saw. She had the rest of them, now. She had them. She gently brushed her hands back into the mortar, put the pestle inside and put the whole thing into the protective case. She set it back in her back. She scattered her notes on the table for them to see.

"This is what I've been doing. Collecting, analyzing, running tests… I've developed a serum that bonds with the magical essence in all things. I apply that to my findings to look for the magical similarities between us and them. What I want to know is where it all comes from… why us? Why not them? Where did the direct line stop? And if it DID stop… who was the first known muggle-born? How did the energy transfer? How does it all WORK? And how far back does it predate man?"

The woman with the horn-rimmed glasses leaned toward her now, astute and concentrating on her. "Do you expect to get all the answers of these questions for us, Miss Granger?"

"I expect to try… anything less than that would be… a disservice to the burning questions I've had in me since the first day I found out I was a witch. Had I graduated from Hogwarts with my class, I would have been Top Girl. I was Valedictorian at Oxford—"

"That Muggle Institution?" someone muttered, incredulously.

"That Muggle Institution holds real facts, sciences, and histories, Johnstar whether or not you're interested in that… it seems it has aided Miss Granger here to finding her solutions so I suggest we regard it with respect," Dr. Fishbottle interrupted. He nodded to Hermione to continue.

"Everything I've done in my life has come down to these questions. I can't help but to feel like the knowledge runs through me in a way I can't even take credit for. I have to explore. And… frankly… I will do so with or without the affiliation of this organization. But without will take longer." She swallowed, hard. She hadn't been intending to give them her "do or die," speech just yet, but that is how it had shaken out. She hoped she hadn't blown it.

The older woman thinned her lips and squinted at Hermione. "How old are you?"

Hermione blushed. _Why do I have to always look 49? _"I'm 25," she answered. The woman blinked at her.

"And how far back have you thusly been able to trace the existence of magical energy?"

"Back to when the earth was still in its bacterial stages, reproducing and growing, without any sign of true 'intelligent' life."

A man who had not laughed, reacted or spoken sat forward now. She had an icy stare, and very particular clothing and hair. He cleared his throat for her. "Have you a theory, Miss Granger"

She hadn't expected the question. "Pardon?"

"A theory… as to where it all comes from… and why us?"

The room was quiet, and all eyes were on her. Had she a theory? Truthfully, she'd never wanted to. She didn't want to guess. She wanted to _know. _ She straightened.

"I believe it was one of my childhood heroes, Sherlock Holmes, who once said, "We would do better to have facts that stew theories than theories that stew facts. I'm a firm believer in facts. I would have to limit my findings by something as small as my own opinions."

"Ah… but has it occurred to you yet that… these things may not HAVE a tangible answer?"

"That's just not something I'm willing to accept at this time."

A beat of silence passed… and the woman across from her cracked a smile behind those glasses. She rose. "My Great Aunt was right about you, dearie. A very clever one. I am Professor Belinda McGonagall—new teacher in History of Magic at Hogwarts." She reached for Hermione's hand. Hermione shook it graciously. "I am happy to assist you with anything you need in this endeavor. You have my vote." She sat down again. Hermione swallowed. It was up to them now, she saw. Dr. Fishbottle cleared his throat and sat forward in his chair.

"Miss Granger, I don't have to tell you that the department is experiencing an all time low in funding. We just don't have the resources to donate to projects that we once did. We've been given a direct line into a great heap of money from The Ministry of Magic that denotes a certain amount of our time should be spent their way. It's come to my understanding however, that your projects are not known only to us, and that some others share your curiosities… others that have a good deal more money than The Department does. Lorenzo Mazuko," he gestured to his right at the neatly dressed man with the icy eyes, "is here representing one of those third party contributors, today. Now, I it was just The Department firing here, we'd have to let you go… but Mazuko seems quite keen to keep you on here with us in exchange for a few amendments to the current state of your research. We'll ask you now to step into the lobby… and the board and he will try to come up with something that can suit all of our needs. Please excuse us."

She rose, gathered her things and with one last look into the faces of the people who would be deciding whether or not she could follow this dream of hers, landing on Lorenzo Mazuko in particular. She stepped out and closed the door behind her. As soon as she did she heard rushed voices on the other side. The secretary whirled to face her.

"That, my dear, is the first time they've been that excited in weeks!"

Hermione sat in one of the chairs badly in need of new upholstering in the lobby and relentlessly chewed on her thumbnail. It was starting to hurt and yet she couldn't stop. It was murderous, waiting for these people she hardly knew to decide whether or not what she felt was her purpose in this world was worth following. And if they said no… she didn't even want to think about it. She was barely making ends meet as it was, eating two meals a day and feeding Crookshanks the best looking pieces of fish from the market. She was down to some of her last galleons in her vault, and try as they might, Mom and Dad weren't going to be able to help her with anything other than her rent- and she hated to ask them. This had to work, it just HAD to. She'd worked too hard for too long.

The door opened and she stopped breathing.

"Miss Granger?" She looked up sharply. Dr. Fishbottle called her back inside. This time, the board was standing, wands out before them on the table, all pointing at a silvery contract at her end of the table. There were 12 spaces for signatures. "Have a seat," Dr. Fishbottle said. She sat, barely able to understand how she was still able to function.

A straight-laced man in his mid 30s began to read from the contract before her: "Here reads the terms of the contract which is to exceed no more than nine months for the time being while it is determined whether the witch in question is able to provide the information we currently seek, and whether she is willing to go forward. For the span of these nine months she must work in conjunction with a third party contributory to explore the relativity of magic in object form, vs. magic in plant and animal form, vs. magic in human witch and wizard form to exceed no more than half the budget allotted for time spent in her Sociological Projects. If at the nine-month mark it is determined that one or more of these tasks has become moot, it will be decided then to end it. If before that nine month term the witch in question disobeys a direct order, the third party contributor breaks contract, or if the thesis itself is deemed insufficient, her budget will be stripped from her as will any duties to The Department of Magical History and Research."

Dr. Fishbottle looked pleased as punch, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he pointed his wand at the first line of the contract and his signature appeared. The other board members followed suite. Hermione was pink with excitement, though she dared not show it. _Conjunction with a third party contributor? Well as long as he doesn't have to hold my magnifying glass for me_. Probably just a suit, she thought. Someone to sit in an office, call the shots and expect results. She couldn't believe her luck! She was going to be able to continue! And all she had to do in the meantime was dig up something worth publishing for this bigwig. She was ecstatic. She saw Dr. Fishbottle bringing her two folders with paperwork inside and watched his lips move as he probably told her to call his home fireplace if he needed anything, and gave her a swift pat on the back, but her thoughts were already home in her bathtub, going through this stack of papers.

She turned to exit and was blocked fully by Lorenzo Mozuko. She stared at him for a moment… didn't much like his look… but she smiled toward him none the less, and held out her hand.

"I guess we'll be working together, then?" she asked. He looked at her hand.

"Miss Granger… are you prepared to accept that this may end much differently than you had always anticipated? Can you live with the frustration of never knowing?"

Her smile faltered a bit. "Look… we're going to be working together, right? Maybe it's best if we cross that bridge when we come to it. I mean, err… I don't know that your investor shares those concerns, right? Otherwise… he wouldn't have… invested." She blushed; hated when she sounded like a complete imbecile out of discomfort.

"He certainly does not share these concerns. This is what worries me."

She put her hand into her pocket awkwardly.

"So… can we get past this then, you and I?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm not the one you'll be working with," he said. He tossed her a third well manicured file in an expensive, leather bound file carrier. She stared down at it. "Was just hoping I could talk some sense into the less thick of the two of you."

He exited. Hermione looked down at the leather carrier in her arms, and for a moment she pondered in the empty room.

* * *

Her feet hardly touched the ground on the way back through town, up the steps to her flat, or into the bathroom. Her clothes were off and her hair up in a messy bun on top of her head before she thought twice about it. She splashed into the near-boiling water and let the goose-pimples lick her flesh as she did, sinking into the sweet warmth of triumph. She turned the water off with her toes and sighed. For just a moment, she let everything be perfect. She let the air around her settle and the bathwater steam. Crookshanks sat on the edge of the tub, flicking his tail back and forth just inches from the water. She thought of calling Harry and Ginny, and writing Ron and Cousin Elsa. She couldn't wait to tell them… couldn't wait to hear the pride in their voices. Merlin's Beard, she might even be able to visit her Goddaughter again, soon. And then she could bear it no longer and she reached a dripping arm from the tub to grasp the two manila folders.

She settled down and opened them up, beginning to read… "First Assignment in Collecting Field Date with Old Wizarding Families, 2123 High Mountainside Way… yada yada… hoopla hoopla," she read aloud. It was all a bunch of bureaucratic jargon she was well used to deciphering when it came to The Department. "Boring," she decided. She chucked it to the floor. She pursed her lips, tapping her fingers on the edge of the tub. She knew what she wanted. She wanted to rip open that million dollar leather carrying case and examine every spec of information under a microscope… but she was afraid. She cast a glance down at it. It laid there haphazardly on the floor with the other folders, so small against it… so trivial. It reminded her of the first time she ever looked at Hogwarts: A History… how nostalgic it made her. She took a deep breath and reached for the folder. She slipped off the crook of the ribbon that held its clasp over the edge. She cracked it open. "Merlin, even the paper is perfect."

They were notes, she realized… notes that looked rather like a mad man's would. Notes that went on for pages and pages, and the more she read, the more confused she became. They were theories, all right, spouting the whys and wheres of magic… why some had it, why some didn't… some of them were pigheaded, she thought, and much like the feelings of her pre-war Slytherin enemies. Others were more gentle… some were just mad. She turned page after page, and realized they were not all notes—but a collection of articles and interviews that dated back generations and generations of Wizarding families she had recognized from the Black Family Tree. It left a bad taste in her mouth to see the state of their opinions written neatly in wonderful penmanship on these perfect sheets of paper. And then she turned and found something that made her jump clean out of her skin. She lost her grip on the folder, and some fell to the floor, but not what had made her lose her focus… that fell gracefully down and touched the steaming water, and floated delicately above her belly.

It was a photograph of The Malfoy Family, taken when Draco was still a baby. A man stood beside Lucious whom she had never met… but she could certainly discern who he was… because written across the top, in the same penmanship she was beginning to fantasize about, it said, "Mum, Dad, me and Uncle Rory. Where is he?!" She stared down at those words, and to the face of the baby with those gray eyes that made her stomach heave. "ME?" she read aloud, aghast.

And from the puddle of water beside her bed… her alarm began to go off again.


	2. Chapter 2: Softening the Blow

For a week, Hermione Granger kept this news to herself. She cleaned her apartment... by hand. She stocked her fridge. She worked what was left of a broken brush that needed replacing through her hair. She went through her files in the office and tidied the shelves. She reinforced the strengthening charms in her office. She made tea. And she drank it! And whenever she walked past the leather carrier in her office, she felt a knot slowly growing in her belly.

It couldn't be him. There was no way. And she would pull open the file, go right to the photograph and reassure herself once more... it was him. Draco Malfoy. This was his file. This was his handwriting- the writing she was next to positive had either been the work of a genius, or a madman, until she'd seen the photo... then she realized she was right, about the latter.

There was no way this could be good; Draco Malfoy interested in "where magic came from?" Not a chance! _Magic_came ONLY from real Wizarding families. Muggle-borns had no real power, it was all smoke and mirrors. They had no birthright... no place in this society. They were just muggles doing tricks, better suited for the circus. They were freaks. She was a freak. He made her sick. He'd never been open to accepting facts, never mind exploring theories. She just couldn't believe it.

Wanting for piece, she pushed the file off her desk and onto the wheeled chair. With both hands, she wheeled the chair out of her office and into the bedroom. She shut it inside and locked her door from the outside. "Just for a while, let me have some peace," she asked of herself. She walked from the closed door, but wringing her hands she couldn't unclench the cramp inside her. She sighed, shook her hands out, and grabbed her sweater from the coat hanger by the door.

"Can't think of a more brilliant time than to rely on family," she said, yanking her hair out from under her sweater and buttoning it up. "Lumos," she directed, wand drawn, and her porch light came on. She flicked off the inside lights and left.

* * *

The doorbell chimed in the Potter family home and Ginny looked over her shoulder toward it. Lily sat in the middle of the floor wearing her purple bow over her loose, ginger curls. Her pacifier moved up and down against her lips. Ginny smiled.

"Coming!" she called. She lowered her wand and the dishes relaxed themselves in the sink to soak in the soapy water. Stepping over stray toddler toys, she approached the door and pulled it in toward her.

"Hermione!" she exclaimed excitedly. Lily padded her way bowlegged toward the front door to investigate. Hermione's pale face broke into a wide grin upon sight of her goddaughter.

"Hello, my two favorite girls in the whole world!" Ginny stepped aside for her to enter and she immediately scooped Lily up and gave her a hug. Holding Lily always made her feel better… as if obstacles really could be overcome- even when the odds and the whole world were against you. Or at least, they could for Harry Potter. She felt that now familiar knot swell inside her gut.

Ginny walked toward the kitchen, raised her wand once more and the dishes commenced their dance of squeaky cleanliness once more. Hermione followed her in with Baby Lily on her hip.

"So how did it go?" She inquired, pulling out a chair at the Potters' kitchen table and sitting down. She opened the very cartoony, dragon-shaped cookie jar in the center of the table and popped a treat from inside into her mouth. Hermione took a seat opposite her at the round wooden table.

"Well. It went rather well," she said, looking at Lily pointedly. Her cheeks flushed a bit.

"'Mione, why you ever waste time trying to hide things from me is beyond my skill of basic human understanding. It's stupid, and you're far from it." She opened the jar, grabbed another morsel and capped it. She slid the cookie across the table to Hermione. It bumped into her elbow and scooted back away from her a little. "Spill."

"Well, The Department, admittedly, _is_ having some cutbacks this season—"

"Right…"

"And they just wanted to make sure their finances were going toward something that might serve a greater, well, _good_ in the Wizarding Community—"

"Mhmm…"

"So they had to, err… amend my thesis a tad."

"I feel a hex coming on—"

"No, really, it's not that big a deal—"

"I can see the titles now, "The Great Hermione Granger sells out for the sake of Curiosity!"

"Come off it, really. It's not that serious, it's more just… they want me to travel a different road than I had originally tended to go down, that's all."

Ginny stared at Hermione for a moment as silence passed between them. Lily had the cookie in both her hands; her mouth closed over half of it, though she hadn't taken a real bite. It was beginning to grow soggy.

"That's all?"

"That's all."

Ginny leaned back on her chair. "Bollocks."

"It's the truth! I swear. They just want me to visit some areas I hadn't really… considered visiting."

"What you mean, "visit"—"

The front door opened and the two women's heads snapped toward it. Harry entered, wand still in his hand and looked between the two of them for just a moment before recognition washed over him.

"Hermione! Been a while, yeah?" He stepped over the threshold and closed the door dropping what looked like an antique briefcase onto the countertop as he did.

"Blimey, Ginny it smells fantastic in here. Been baking?"

"Among my many talents." She smiled at him. He bent over her to peck her on the lips. Hermione smiled tightly.

"Hermione here's just been filling me in on…"

"On The Department's final decision to allow me to continue my project!" she interjected, her eyes widening as they darted away from Ginny's accusatory stare.

Behind her on the kitchen counter, she could have sworn she'd heard something. She turned her head to check, but nothing seemed out of place. Harry's briefcase still lay on the counter, and the door was snug in its frame. Her brow furrowed.

"That's great, Hermione." Harry was beaming. She turned back to him, sitting Lily on the table, and rose for him to embrace her. The arms of the boy who saved the Modern Wizarding World were around her chest, arms and back. It had been so long since she'd been close to him, and though she had never been the type to have misplaced feelings, and could never- ever- think of Harry as more than her long-lost brother… he would always make her feel safe. He had that effect on many muggle-borns, she imagined.

But of course it was more than that, and she'd never deny it. No, she may be absolutely rubbish when it came to dealing with how she felt, but she knew she would always love Harry and Ron- if in very different ways.

"You're staying for dinner, yeah?" Harry asked as he broke from her, and too quickly her safety net was plucked off of her. Exposed again, she felt the familiar goosepimples on the back of her neck, the backs of her knees even. She shook it off. _You're a Gryffendor for Merlin's sake!_

"OF COURSE she's staying," Ginny said, rising, a mischievous smile playing her pretty face. "Especially since she hasn't finished spilling the goods on the new TERMS of this project."

"Oh?" Harry asked, turning his gaze to Hermione. She looked to Lily.

"She's so big," Hermione mused. Harry followed her glance. He smiled at his daughter.

_Clank._ She definitely heard something this time. She whipped her head around toward the side door by the kitchen counter. It was as if nothing had moved... the door was still closed... the curtain over its windows were not rustling as if just breezed through... the countertop was tidy... and Harry's briefcase... _Had it... moved slightly toward the edge?_

"She is," Harry answered her, calling her attention back to him. "What's up, Hermione? Why so keen to change the subject?"

"Is there nothing I can't hide from the two of you?"

"Nope! Get used to it!" Ginny hollered over her shoulder as her wand moved elegantly over the clean, wet dishes in the sink, spinning them like a torpedo in midair to dry them off. Some splashes caught Lily on the forehead and she shook them off and giggled.

"Mommy Mondere!" she clapped. The cookie she'd been salivating over, now crumbled on the floor swept itself into a neat little pile. Ginny peered down at it. Hermione sighed.

"Well, at least I know I can borrow your baby the next time Crookshanks invites a mouse to dinner."

Harry chuckled. He took a deep breath and looked around his kitchen… warm, yellow lighting as if to suggest unwavering sunshine. It was lightly cluttered, and very clearly housed a toddler, but it was home. Touches of Ginny's magic were everywhere… and paraphernalia of The Boy Who Lived was not forgotten—his Firebolt was mounted over the large fireplace against the far living room wall. It was exactly the kind of place he deserved, Hermione thought. All the comforts of a real home. She was glad he had it, now, even if it could never make up for all the lost years.

Harry nodded to his left, gesturing Hermione out of the room. She walked with him down the wood floor hallway toward the front door and past the living room where a large window overlooked their front yard into the friendly Wizarding community neighborhood he lived in. It was just starting to get dark. She really should stay for dinner, even if Crookshanks would give her the cold shoulder when she came home, fat and happy without a snack for him. How he had managed to forgive her for going off to search for Horcruxes without him, she'd never know… perhaps all the snuggling Ginny had given him in her absence had been enough.

They stopped just short of the window, standing above his loveseat, and he looked out. Hermione used to wonder where he was when he looked off like that. Now, she knew, of course. He was where ever he felt he needed to be… always trying to protect those he loved. She considered herself fortunate that she was one of those people. She'd have done anything for him, Ginny, or that baby.

"So what's up, Hermione?"

"You're thinking of me, then?"

"Hmm?"

"That I need protecting?"

He smiled.

"Do you?"

"I'm fine." But she didn't look sure. He looked into her eyes. "Really, I'm fine. Or, I will be."

_BANG._ Hermione's head snapped toward the kitchen, searching. Harry lay a hand on her shoulder. She turned back to him. It was as if he hadn't heard a thing!

"Secrets and you are never a good thing, together. When I think of all the trouble we—"

"That I caused?! That's a laugh! You and Ronald. "Sheer dumb luck!"" She quoted, and they were both laughing. When they stopped there was silence between them. He wasn't going to drop it, she knew. She sighed.

"You can't breathe a WORD to Ron—"

"Wouldn't dream of it. My guess is that it wouldn't fit on a post card, anyway and with him overseas—"

"America has fireplaces. And I mean it, Harry. Not a word."

He paused. "It's that bad, then?"

She ran her hands through her hair, brushing it out of her face and fell back on the sofa, elbows on her knees. He followed suit and sat beside her, legs together and eyes focused and prodding.

"The Department of Magical History and Research has had a new… investor."

"That right?"

"Yes. A rather… irritating investor. I have to work under—_beside_ him," she corrected, her cheeks turning a tad pink. Harry's brow furrowed.

"Who?"

"Not a word to—"

"Who, Hermione?"

"It's Malfoy."

For a moment, the air between them went stale. And then without warning, Harry erupted into laughter. Hermione was aghast.

"I'm so _glad_ that you find my predicament funny, Harry!"

"_MALFOY_ has an interest in 'Magical History and Research'?! The bugger only barely PASSED History of Magic!"

"Now, Harry, that's not quite—"

"Come on, Hermione! Malfoy?! He's got something up his sleeve. He's never gonna make you work with him! He can't STAND you!"

"Really, Harry. Do you think that hasn't crossed my mind?" She was up now, and pacing.

"The last time I saw that… that _man_ I was close enough to spit on him, and he let his family _torture_ me."

The color drained from Harry's face. "Hermione…"

"Now, stop. I'm not playing for pity points, here. I just… I _know_ what he's capable of, Harry… I saw it in his eyes… and reading his notes, I'm just not… I'm not POSITIVE that he's quite all the way right, anymore."

"Did he _used_ to be all the way right?"

Hermione sighed and dropped back down onto the couch. Harry watched her for a beat, then rose and crossed to a cabinet with child-proof binding spells on its front two doors. He pulled his wand from the holster at his side and pointed it at the cabinet. "Alohamora," he said and it popped open. He removed a bottle of Firewhiskey, half full. Hermione sniffed.

"Just don't tell me I look like I'm 49..."

"You're white as a sheet. Have been since you first walked in. You don't look well, at all." He passed her the bottle. She uncorked it and took a swig. She shuddered. "But you know damn well you don't look any '49'."

"What gave me away?" she asked.

"Honestly? You did. But even if you hadn't.. there's a poltergeist in the briefcase in my counter who's been feasting on family secrets for 50 years. He could smell the deceit a mile away."

Hermione's jaw fell open. "_THAT_'s the noise?!" _BANG!_ She jumped. Harry's briefcase was leaning against the living room cupboard, banging into it gently, as if mocking her. She sighed.

"Sad thing is, it's not even this _Malfoy_ thing that's draining me. It's my work. I love it… but it takes a lot out of you when its almost entirely your dollar, in the slow equiptment in your own flat…. Harry, with Malfoy's money, I could have my own _office_. My own LAB. I could do things- larger scale projects- that I can't even consider, now. The time line I'm working on can stretch forward and backward and I can get so much closer to finding these answers. I wouldn't have to just send away to Museums for fossils... I could GO to Sumer, Egypt, and even bloody Stonehenge. I could be the one in charge of the dig, itself! There's no door in England I couldn't unlock... and we have some of the most curious secrets of all. But _without _him?"

"I know," he said.

"I can't turn it down," she admitted. He sighed, leaned back in his chair.

"If I was you, feeling the way you do, I probably couldn't either. But Hermione- and he _is_ a coward, make no mistake... but he's sneaky. I've faced him head on and come out on top. What if he—"

"Don't play the misogyny card with me, Harry. Back in the deck you go." He shook his head at her. She gave him a look. "I've twice the wit you do." He gave her a pointed look. "I'd be casting when he'd still be fumbling for his wand." Harry cracked a smile. So did Hermione. "I'd blow his knickers up over his head." They exploded in laughter.

"Though… for your sake, I hope that's not true." She grimaced and shook her head.

"No one needs to see Malfoy's knickers." She took another swig of the Firewhiskey. Harry reached up and patted her shoulder.

"That's the Hermione I knew."

Ginny entered the room, a happy, dodie-sucking baby on her hip.

"Are we done now swapping secrets too delicate for Mommy-dearest so we can eat? I made chowder."

Harry bolted upright. Hermione rose slowly and made to open her mouth.

"You're staying too," Harry said, stopping her from refusing. She smiled.

"Well, bollocks, if you insist."

* * *

Hermione walked back to her flat from her train stop in silence, her hands deeply folded into her pockets. Her scarf was wrapped tightly around her neck and her curls billowed frizzily over her shoulders—though she was glad to have it warming her ears now, she was deeply considering cutting it all off. It hadn't had a trim in ages… and it was well down her back. It made taming it near impossible… not that she tried, often.

She couldn't help regretting leading Harry on. He and Ron had always considered Draco Malfoy to be cut from an entirely different cloth of stupidity than Crabbe or Goyle, but still a very ignorant man. She knew better. It was she who had clawed her way to the front of the lines to catch marks, not them—and she always checked on her enemies. She had to know where they stood. Draco Malfoy was no imbecile. In several classes- and especially in Potions- he was top of the class right alongside her. Still though, History of Magic had never been one of his strong suits. So WHY the interest in her project? She couldn't dream it was about tormenting her… not after eight years of silence from him. He couldn't be that bored.

And what _had _happened to Draco Malfoy, anyway? She knew that his family had switched sides just before the war turned sour, to avoid their own demise. Luscious Malfoy still rotted in Azkaban. Narcissa had been in the news for a spell in the early years, preaching acceptance and donating the minimum amount to the post-war charities and such to throw suspicion off of herself… trying to keep her head up… trying to make believe. But of Draco? No one was talking. She assumed of course that he was living his dream: mooching off of mummy and daddy and laying low to avoid having to do any of the real "work" toward the "goals" his family sought. But his notes had indicated otherwise… had he _changed_ his viewpoint on magic, muggleborns, and racial purity? Had_ Draco Malfoy_ changed? Or had they even been his notes, at all?

The idea of it was laughable to her. So why the long face? She wasn't sure what to make of any of it. And regardless of what he was now, he could never change what he had been, and she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. But she wanted_ everything_ to do with this project. And if that meant punching Draco Malfoy in the nose for good measure just one more time, then that's just what she was going to have to do! ...after she convinced him to spend about a fortune in fossils, equipment, and new field workers.

She sighed and climbed the steps to her apartment. She twisted the key in the lock and walked upstairs. She opened the door and snapped her figures, popping on the lights. Crookshanks jogged out to meet her. She crouched to meet him. "Would I disappoint you?" She held him out a cookie. He purred and took it from her. She stroked his back.

Standing, she whipped off her jacket and draped it over the back of her chair. She immediately set a kettle on for tea, stripping off her layers as she went. It was a chilly night for September, and she had dressed warmly for the journey to Harry's. She could have taken the Floo, she knew, but she'd gotten into the habit of walking to work and it felt natural. After all… she had been raised a muggle.

She pulled her shirt over her head as she walked into her bedroom and got stuck halfway up a renegade button. She backed against the wall and brushed the light on with her shoulder. She pulled the shirt up over her ears, shook her hair out and gasped.

Draco Malfoy sat lazily in her office chair in the middle of her vacant bedroom, leaning against the back and rocking slightly to amuse himself. In his hands, he gently tapped the leather file carrier, the silk ribbon tie between two of his fingers. He was smirking up at her, and his eyes slunk over her body. She turned pink.

"My, my. Someone's filled out since her school days."


	3. Chapter 3: The Visitor

She was shocked, half-naked, and standing before her high school nemesis. Her sweater fell limply to the floor. He blinked up at her.

"…Well… I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little disappointed… no comeback? No virginal hiding from my prying eyes?"

Her hand curled around her wand before he could think twice.

"Incarcerous!" she bellowed. Ropes wound their way around Draco and held him firmly to her office chair, which creaked under this new force.

"Bugger, Granger! Why—"

"What are you doing here?"

"Is this really necessary?"

"Who told you where I live?!"

"Granger—"

"Of all the rubbish…" she marched toward him, wand pressed into his throat. He swallowed, hard. "I made you bleed once with just my fist, remember. Imagine what I could do with this."

He stared up at her for a moment. She was seething, so alive, on fire with that rage. Her hair was wild and tangled around her face. He glanced downward.

"I would happily answer your questions with proof, Granger… were that I not hogtied in your bedroom." She pressed the wand more effectively into his gullet. He winced. "And might I point out, you are still half naked."

"Obscuro!" she snapped. A blindfold wrapped around his eyes.

"Somehow this is even less pleasant than I had anticipated."

"You are a pig. The referenced 'hogtying' is appropriate."

"Relax, Granger. I didn't come here to catch a glimpse of your knickers."

"Don't expect to!"

"My right back pocket."

She stiffened.

"What?"

"The answer to your questions are in my back pocket—OW!" She jabbed her wand into his throat harder than before. She grimaced at him.

"If you really think I'm going to fall for that, then I—"

"Granger have I _ever_ demonstrated even a mild attraction to you? Nothing has changed. You can look in my pocket or you can tear a hole in my trachea. Your choice." She stilled, a little shocked. He had a point. It's not as if she was a skirt for him to chase, really. In fact until today, all he'd ever told her was how disgusting he found her. But she knew he had changed- and wasn't certain that it was for the better. And he was certainly up to something. She forced a stiff upper-lip and reached around him into his back pocket. The air between them was thick. She rolled her eyes and dug a little deeper. "Easy on the goods," he smirked.

"Grow up," she muttered. She felt what she was looking for, pulled it out and turned to view it, picking her sweater up from the floor and pulling it back over her head clumsily. It was a small notebook, no bigger than a pocket diary. She opened it.

"PASSWORD," it bellowed. She jumped and she dropped it to the floor. She glared at Malfoy who was chuckling under his breath, shoulders shaking.

"Really," she hissed. "It's like you _want_me to hex you."

"Potter Stinks," he said, clearly. She shook her head. The book opened, pages flipping to the most recent entry. "And _really,_" he imitated, "why am I still blindfolded? Surely you're not still naked in the room with me." She scowled and snapped her fingers. The blindfold disappeared. She reached down for the book again and set her eyes into it.

_Received Granger's invitation, today. Supposed to meet her at her place around 8. Says she read the file—has a theory I might be interested in. Can't imagine she'd be all that interesting, but… more shocking things have happened._

Hermione glowered at him.

"Flip to the back," he said. She did so. A folded letter fell out, shockingly, in her own handwriting, saying exactly what Draco had recorded. She flipped it over… Merlin, it even had her address on the back. Her heart skipped a beat.

"I… I didn't send you this," she said. He sighed.

"I know that."

Was she missing something, here? He seemed awfully secure in this situation, and it bothered her.

"Well. Then why are you here?"

"I've been here for hours," he admitted. Her brows knitted together. "Is it not clear to you, Granger? Someone wanted us to be together, at 8 o'clock. Someone who knows a great deal about what we're researching."

"But why would anyone know? I haven't published anything, and I only just found out about your interest in the subject—"

"Almost time to find out. It's 7:55," he said, glancing at the clock above her head. She turned to view it. "Now, you can leave me tied, and vulnerable to an attack, or you can untie me and likely face the attacker two against one."

Hermione reeled. He could be making the whole thing up. He could have jinxed the parchment, forged her handwriting… if he'd remembered it… or he could have asked his contact at The Department to gather something of hers while her cards were on the table. Or, she realized, Draco Malfoy could be telling her the truth, and in just two minutes she might be facing an attacker in her apartment on her own. She might even get him killed in doing so. She pondered that for a moment. _Well, that wouldn't be the WORST idea…. _

"Tick tock, Granger. What's it gonna be?" She faced him. Her fists balled and loosened. She cleared her throat.

"Give me your wand," she said. He rolled his eyes. Her eyes narrowed. "Give it to me," she said, "or I'll walk out of this apartment and leave you here like this."

"Your sense of valor would never let you do that, Gryffindor."

"My sense of knowing when a lying snake sits before me would require it, Slytherin."

He stared at her, calculating, for a moment. "I have a sheath under my shirt on the left side."

It was too easy.

"No more witty insults to throw my way?"

"I can't blame you for not trusting me, Granger."

She didn't have time to be surprised. She leaned over him and reached for the wand. His breath was hot against the side of her face and she felt him leaning back away from her. She was glad she wasn't the only one uncomfortably aware of how close they were. Her fingers wrapped around the wand and she stepped back, cheeks pink and her hands shaking a little.

"What changed you?" she asked. He said nothing, his eyes on the floor. She sighed. "If you're lying to me about this," she began, regaining focus," I swear I'll make you eat bat bogies."

She dove into her bedroom closet and closed the door over so she could still into the room, a sliver of light breaking her face in two. Malfoy watched her go, glaring at her between the door and its pane. "Bollocks," he muttered to himself.

She watched him now that she was alone in what was perhaps just a setup to make her look gullible. He hadn't changed that much, she thought. Longer hair, less well kept… it fell nearly to his shoulders, that icy blonde color a woman would have paid hundreds of dollars to grow for herself. It was a bit wavy now, not so straight as a rod as it had been. He was clean shaven, his face just barely starting to show the fine lines that always came with age. But he was one to talk about "filling out," she thought. He may have been sitting down, but she could tell he'd gained about six inches in height and added some serious muscle mass. Still thin, but no longer waifish, he might have been quite attractive… had he not also been an arse.

The seconds passed slowly and her heart pounded loudly in her ears. But then, she saw it. The lights in her bedroom flickered. Malfoy peered up at them, then into the closet. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Her front door creaked. She closed her eyes.

_I'm going to throw you the wand. _

Draco looked around quickly for the source of the voice. He tipped his head toward her.

_How are you doing that?_

_Be ready… _

Footsteps in her kitchen. Buzzing….

_DIFFINDO!_

The ropes around Malfoy were cut to ribbons and fell away. The wand came hurling at him from the closet and he caught it one handed. He rose and stepped behind the dusty changing curtain in the corner of her room. Hermione opened her eyes. He met them. She nodded.

Together they burst out of the bedroom, wands at the ready. But the kitchen was surprisingly empty.

"He's here somewhere," Draco whispered. Hermione walked behind him, turned her back to his.

"Walk in, I'll cover," she responded. He went forward into the kitchen and she walked backward behind him, eyes all over the room. He craned his head into her office doorway, lights off and everything untouched. She peered into her tidy bathroom, which looked the same as always.

"I don't see anything," he said. But hadn't she heard buzzing?

Before she could respond, it was all around them, the buzzing so loud she could hardly bear it. Her hands flew over her ears, as did his. She grimaced, searching for the source.

"Bloody hell is that?!" Draco shouted over the noise.

"I don't know!" she yelled.

Her front door slammed shut. The kitchen cabinets opened and closed, violently. A vicious wind began to overtake them. Papers from her office were flying about the apartment.

"_Two halves…"_

"_Two halves…"_

"_One path…"_

"_His wrath—"_

"Can you hear it?" Hermione shouted to him over the buzzing.

"_Verum…"_

"I hear it!" He answered.

"Verum…"

"It's getting louder," she called out to him.

"_HURSAGMU_!"

All at once, it stopped. Hermione caught her breath. Her hair was wild, standing on end around her face in all directions. Draco's hands were on his knees as he bent to cough. She looked around the disastrous room with wide eyes.

"What just happened?" she asked, hardly daring to take a step forward.

"As if I know?!" he asked, wand raised again, searching in the cabinets as he walked around.

"Verum… it means 'Truth.' It's latin. What else did it say? 'Hursagmu,' I know that word…"

"Well you can spend loads of time looking it up in your old school books later, Granger. But for now can we make sure whatever the Hell it was is gone? I don't fancy getting my arse kicked in by something I can't even see. And where'd you learn to do that?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Talking to me- or thinking at me, rather. You can even perform spells?"

"I've been studying Ancient forms of magic for months. I can do simple spells. Nothing that bends the energy around the subject too much. It's just something I picked up."

"Of course you did," he muttered. She rolled her eyes.

"If it wanted to hurt us, Malfoy, it would have. Whatever it was, it had power. It's gone."

"Oh? You're sure?" He was still looking.

"No," she said, suddenly realizing. "I'm not sure it's gone… I'm not certain it's _ever_ gone," she said. She flew into her office, imagining the dig she was going to have to start to get to her files on Ancient Sumeria- one of the first known Human Magical Tribes had lived there in "The Valley of the Kings." They were Chanters, she remembered. They used their voices to unlock the magic inside themselves. They created some of the first ever-verbal spells, through that chanting. She thought of the buzzing… not buzzing…. They believed the source of their power could most easily be connected to at the top of one of the mountains…

She had thought she would have to dig. But the file was open, right on top. She hovered above it. Draco entered the room. "Lumos," he said. The room filled with light.

"What is it, Granger?"

"Hursagmu," she said. "It's not in a school book. It's in Iraq." She turned to him, shoved the file into his hands. The picture gleaned up at him, the clouds rotating around the top of the mountain as if it reached into the very sky itself. "It means, 'Mountain of the Sky-Chambers."

"What does it mean?" he asked, reading the notes Hermione had taken six months ago.

"They're summoning us."


	4. Chapter 4: The Curiosity of Draco Malfoy

Draco Malfoy had never been as interested in a photograph as he was in the one before him. _The Mountain of the Sky Chambers…._ Surely, this had to be it. Even as the clouds chased each other from midway up to the peak of the mountain, beyond sight in the photo and reaching into the sky like an open palm grasping, he could picture it as it had been painted with fingers on the slab of wall located at the British Museum. He closed his eyes. "The Black Headed men," had circled the mountain in the painting. Not headed, he knew, but hooded. But far be it from him to change the minds of muggles long made up on their History; a history that was completely lacking in any real knowledge of his kind, of course.

For a long time, Hermione was silent. He had to admit, she was surprising him. He had prepared himself for a long road ahead when he deduced he had to meet her without her knowledge. He'd steadied his resolve, mentally, against the whining, grating voice that competition and know-it-all tones rolled off of whenever she dared to speak—which was often, if memory served. He had been totally expecting her balking against him, her suspicion, and perhaps even getting hexed. He had obviously _not- _he now realized_-_ been expecting a grown woman to greet him.

And had she changed… it was almost a shame. Whether it was from the stress he knew she'd been under in doing this work by herself, or perhaps just becoming an adult and letting childhood competition fall by the wayside, Hermione Granger was not the hand-raised-violently-in-the-air-swinging, rule-sticking, brown-nosing, mud-blooded, Gryffindor _girl_ that he had once despised. She was reserved. She was contemplative. She was… tired, he decided. She had hung onto much of her teenage features he recalled: small nose, wide eyes, long eye-lashes, full lips, a splash of freckles over her nose and cheeks… but her face had lost a bit of the roundness… her eyes had sunken in a little against her cheek bones, causing them to stand tall away from her face in an elegant way she probably wasn't even aware of. But_ he_ was. He was aware of just about every inch of her, from the mane of hair that almost intimidated him, to the breasts he had managed to catch more than just a glimpse of, to the legs that went on for days inside her jeans… and he hardly blamed himself, even knowing it was _her_. Been months since he'd even been in the presence of a woman… let alone one his own age, with a pulse, and an IQ that made him dizzy.

"Who is summoning us?" he asked, breaking from his thoughts.

"The Kings of the Valley. The Black-Headed ones," she answered. He smirked. _So she hasn't deduced that then, yet,_ he thought. "Well, they're called Black-Headed, in the mythology… but, of course, its more likely that they wore black dressrobes and hoods," she continued. His smirk faded. She was still in there, somewhere. _  
_

"And what else do we know about these Kings, or why or why not they may still be alive, let alone would want anything to do with two Hogwarts drop outs?"

Her brow knitted together and her lips nearly disappeared. He'd hit a nerve, he realized immediately... but he couldn't help himself…

"What's the matter, Granger? Haven't accepted that bit, yet? That you couldn't be the Valedictorian of Hogwarts? That no one gave you a buggering trophy for Most Questions Answered in the span of seven long years?"

"Be careful, Malfoy," she said, coolly. "You are still in my house." His smirk widened. He bit his bottom lip.

"Of course… wouldn't want you to…_ make me bleed_, again, Granger. I'm positively quaking." Her cheeks were pink and her lips like two thin rubies. Her eyes were whirling in chestnut fire. He was halfway surprised she wasn't bearing down on him, yet. She really had gained restraint over the past seven years.

"Everything I lost in that year away from school is your fault. Your poor decision making and cowardice lead to the destruction of people I loved. Instead of my final year I had been dreaming about, I was tortured by your family while you _watched_. If I was half the self-loathing, egotistical failure that you are, Malfoy, I'd already have either reduced you to physical, shaking pain… or I'd have run away screaming. But one of us has to be the bigger wizard. One of us has to be _worthy_ of being summoned." She turned from him then, and strode to the doorway, leaving him taken aback- and slightly satisfied- after having poked the bear. She spun around in the doorway._ "_And furthermore… I'm not surprised in the slightest to hear that, Malfoy. After all… ferrets don't _quake_ when they're frightened, do they? They_ bite." _She left the room, and not a moment too late, he thought, as anger quelled inside him… a satisfied, hot, roaring anger. Why had he missed this? A brat through and through, he decided. And she? She hadn't changed that much after all. She was just hiding her cards, biding her time. He was grateful, he realized suddenly. He shrugged. What was the point of life if you weren't going to have a little fun? …Especially at Hermione Granger's expense.

* * *

Hermione was furious. How _dare_ he bring that up to her, expecting her to forfeit, or expecting her to_ forgive_… he had no idea how close he was to leaving with a belly full of Slewborne Slugs… or a black eye. It took her a moment to chase away the red rim around her peripheral vision and find her old self inside the beast she had become. Only he had ever made her feel like this, she realized. Only he had ever been able to bring her out of the type of person she liked to be… the type of woman who could break the stereotype and abandon her emotions for reason. The type of witch who could stare hate in the face and keep calm, keep her head. She felt out of control around him, and she didn't like it. She wasn't ready to lose control this early into everything. If she lost it now, before they'd spent scarcely more than half an hour together, what exactly was she setting herself up for over the course of the next nine months? She couldn't- she_ wouldn't_ spend her time plotting and scheming against him while supposed to be working at his side. It was too much for her to deal with after four months of no sleep. And yet, she thought, she didn't yet long for the uncomplicated, lukewarm contentment she always felt around Harry and Ron. She sighed. _I choose not to think on what that says about me as a person…. _

"Have we gotten that out of our systems, then?" she heard from behind her. She turned. He was leaning lazily against the doorway to her kitchen, glancing at her. She despised him.

"Have _we_?" she repeated.

"Well I won't speak for _you_, Granger. I don't even speak your language."

"And what language is that? _Mudblood_?"

"I was thinking of Hysterical Woman, but I reckon that works too."

Her gut knotted. She told herself to breathe.

"Malfoy…" she started, the numbers counting down in her head seeming more akin to the launching of the rocket than a sheep jumping a fence.

"Yes?" he asked, sheepishly. _Six sheep jumping over a fence on fire… five sheep jumping over a fence into a pool of acid… four sheep jumping into outer space…._

"Thank you," she said. His face twisted in confusion.

"Thank you…?"

"For coming here… to protect me."

She'd hit the nail on the head, she knew immediately. He was frozen for far too long to not have been right on the money. And why, she wondered, did he suddenly… give a damn? She knew of course it was about the project; about the questions that burned inside him... but would he admit it? A galleon said he was about to dismiss her.

"A man has to protect his investments," he said at last, and studied his fingernails. She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Good. Since that's settled… do you drink coffee?"

That was clearly not what he'd been expecting her to say. His game of cat and mouse, she knew, hadn't grown boring for him yet, and he was still hungry to play.

"Why?" he asked, watching her.

"Well. If you have any interest in staying up tonight with clenching worry and sleeplessness, while we discuss the rest of what we heard tonight… they sell some… down the street."

She'd never seen this look on his face, before. He was so awkward, and she, so at ease. It was easy to invite Malfoy to coffee. If he had been any sort of a MAN, she'd have rather ridden on a thestral into a hurricane. But Malfoy? She could ask Malfoy to drink a whole vat of coffee. He could even eat _food _if he wanted. It did her good to see him off his game. And, she thought, it did him some good to feel beneath her.

"Why would I want to do that?" he finally asked, as if unsure of what else he could say. His brow was furrowed and he was tracing his lip with his thumbnail, a definite nervous tick. She was giddy.

"Well, maybe because we've sussed out exactly one of the five things The Kings want from us-"

"If its "The Kings" talking to us at all and not The Flying Nun-"

"-and something tells me that's not going to be enough. And, there's also the delightful fact that you've still not shared with me exactly WHAT you really want with this project- or with me. I don't trust you. I don't _like_ you. And other than the obvious financial aspect, I have no idea what you bring to this project."

Apparently she'd gone beyond his capacity to pun. He stood there, looking at her, poised and contemplating. She rolled her eyes and brought her wand tip to her lips. She blew on it, and the light in her kitchen went out.

"Coffee it is."

* * *

Draco sat across from the square table from Hermione Granger, a box of menus and two upside down mugs between them. There was also, he noticed, a short, fat candle with a lit wick inside a little glass bottle, with a suggestive purpose on the table. He felt like laughing. _Hermione Granger and I going for coffee well past the time of day in which its practical to drink it… in a muggle café. _And what was even MORE shocking, was that she had asked HIM... Miss Queen Prude as they used to call her. Well not _all_ of them, he reminded himself. She had gone with Krum, and he imagined that hadn't been an especially chaste relationship... and of course, he'd heard about her and the Weasel, though he had no idea whatever happened to set them apart. Still, whether she was Miss Queen Prude or Baby Sex Kitten of the Night, if any of his friends had seen this back in school, he'd have been ruined. But, then, he reminded himself… he didn't have any friends.

"So, tell me," she started, her suddenly cavalier attitude not fading in the slightest, "what exactly about _magical origin_ catches your fancy? Apart from of course, the obvious."

"The obvious?" he asked.

"Well, you know… being able to prove that those of us from non-magical backgrounds have a lesser form of magic than you _Purebloods_ and therefore should be given fewer privileges and shoved underground where we belong—if we're allowed to live, at all."

"I see you read the file," he said, not bothering to stifle the sarcasm that was beginning to flow freely.

"Not that I believe a word."

His brows went up. "Oh?"

"Rubbish, all of it; all of them theories, none of them facts. I'm surprised you thought I'd be interested in it at all. Interviewing your family members to get that rubbish..."

For a moment, he was quiet, reading her. If he was honest with himself, he'd admit it… she was beyond his intelligence. She was sharper, and more creative. He had a better sense of self-preservation, a more practical "common sense," than she did- not that that was ever really a Gryffindor thing- but in a beat, it was she who would find the correct answer 85% of the time, and he knew it. So how could she have missed what he assumed had been so obvious?

"Tell me more," he said simply. She rolled her eyes at him. His widened. She really didn't know…? She sized him up, eyes up to his, then down. She sat back, cleared her throat. The waitress approached them and poured the silent couple coffee. She looked between them before walking off. She dropped a check on the table. Hermione took a sip; cocked her head.

"That file represents a 'peek behind the curtain' into your thoughts, yes? Going back and forth, not sure what you believe anymore… I think you went through something after the war. I think daddy being locked up and mummy playing the waifish hero was too much for you. I think all that money and all those _feelings_ went to your head and you didn't know what you thought anymore about any of it. The two people you always hated most of all saved your hide- twice- in that war. Had to be tough getting over that. Tough enough to break you? I doubt it. I think there's more to that, but I won't pretend to guess what happened. I think you had seven long years to stew in wonder and hatred. I think you started to go a bit mad. And then, somehow, I don't know how, but somehow, you heard about what I was doing, and if fascinated you… because you were wondering all the same things I was because of your own bollocks-for-brains upbringing and high-society nonsense. I think all that money finally came to use, and you decided to try and buy me to do your legwork; to tell you what to believe… to ease your tortured mind. I think you _need_ me to find yourself. The question is whether or not I'm going to help you out. A need is ever stronger than a want, after all."

Draco almost felt like congratulating her. For it was truly a marvel to read that much into a file so small. She had thought a lot about this, he realized. But that was one of the great Hermione Granger's faults… she read too much into things. She struggled to see what was two feet in front of her, always concerned with what was a mile away. And now, she had convincer herself that she was in control. It might as well have been his birthday, because this was truly going to be spectacular….

"Se melius," he whispered, and her coffee rippled. She looked down into it, and back to him.

"What—"

"You'll thank me in a minute," he said. Her two hands were curled around the cup. Small hands, he noticed, marred by the signs of labor. He chuckled. "All that you deduced from the file I had hand delivered to you?" he asked. She shrugged.

"I wager there's much more to it than that… I'd ask you to tell me if I thought you'd be honest."

"Mmm. Not one of my known traits."

"Precisely."

"Well, Granger. I'm about to do you a favor." She stared at him, prying for clues. He smirked. "It's not my file. They aren't my notes. The only thing of mine in the whole case is the photograph… the one, I assume, was the trigger you needed to assemble this jigsaw puzzle in what I will admit to you is a pretty impressive brain you have, there. Impressive, if not overly ambitious. For someone rambling on about theories and facts... you sure are looking the part of The Hypocrite." She glared at him.

"You're lying."

"Well. You're the master witch, here. Read my thoughts," he invited her, and he closed his eyes. He could feel her grappling, wanting to know, not trusting him, and trying desperately to read his features, alone.

_Nice try,_ he warned her. _I can camouflage any emotion I want. You'll never find your answers that way. _

He heard her scowl, and he chuckled. She was reading him now whether or not she wanted to. So he opened his mind a bit more to her, and felt her gently float in….

* * *

Hermione walked into Draco's mind an began to read like pages from a book on every sensory level what he saw, felt, heard, smelled… she could feel him, physically, emotionally. She expected him to be cold. He wasn't. She was back in the lukewarm embrace she always felt around Harry and Ron, but Draco was alone in these memories. Utterly alone, she realized… and he was poured over what looked like years worth of books, letters, and files. He wasn't shaven, she could feel and see. His hair was long, straggly, like Sirius had been when they'd first met. The memory made her gut twist. Or at least, it would have, she knew, had she not been sharing one with Draco Malfoy.

The memory changed. She was tiny, feeling everything, understanding next to nothing… a face was blurred in her vision. A tall, pale man with long blonde hair… not Lucius, she could feel. Lucius was holding her, tightly, with strong hands, but no warmth. But she wasn't cold… that lukewarmth was still all around her, and the man peering down at her was happy. He had a kinder face, she could sense through the blurry lines and fuzzy edges. He reached for her and she was pulled away….

She was a teenager, listening to his parents fight. She felt a sea of chaos inside her, emotional torment, physical pain. She'd been beaten on this day—Draco had, she knew, but it was if the bruises were freshly on her arms and legs. She almost couldn't believe how strongly she could feel it. And what were they saying? "Rory is _dead_. What he found means _nothing." _

And then she was crying, tears streaming down her face. She was alone. Utterly alone, perhaps ten years old… about to go away to Hogwarts, and the luke warm feelings were gone- or perhaps, they'd yet to exist. The doorway was bright, and she found herself shaking. Her arms stung and burned. She looked down and saw red. Blood began to ooze—

"ENOUGH," she heard from somewhere far away, and then a hook grabbed her by the bellybutton and tore her from that place. She was sailing, reeling, and then she was back in the café across the street from her flat, a coffee in her hands and fresh tears staining her cheeks. She was shaking, her head was pounding. And Draco Malfoy looked livid in a way she had never seen him before. _Vulnerable_ she realized. And part of her could still feel it, too.

"That wasn't something I showed you," he said, refusing to look at her. "You went looking. You found that on your own," he accused. She shook her head, wiping the tears from her cheeks with some embarrassment.

"No I didn't," she stammered when she finally found her voice. "Draco, how could I have? I wouldn't have known what I was…" she found herself staring at his arms, suddenly, turned inward, away from her. Long sleeves. Had she ever seen him without long sleeves? She'd never bothered to look. And suddenly, regardless of what he'd done, who he was, and what she knew he was likely to do again if he ever really had the upper hand… what she_ felt_ was altogether new. It was a predicament she didn't have a word for, and that was very unlike her. She found his eyes. He was beginning to calm, she saw. The wall was coming down again, but he was separating himself from the memory. She had forced him to relive it as well, somehow, she could see. It wasn't just her pain, but his all over again. They had both just experienced a deep part of Draco Malfoy, together, without his permission, and neither of them even bloody _liked_ one another.

She wasn't sure how to continue; what to say. She'd never pegged him for ever having any real troubles… without thinking, she lifted her coffee to her lips and took a long gulp. She gasped, swallowed hard, and grimaced.

"You _spiked_ this?!" she asked him. She startled him. He looked at her cup and cleared his throat. He took it from her hands and finished it off.

"I'm not sorry," he said, pushing the coffee cup away from his hands. He leaned back in the chair, loosened his dress shirt. Hermione bit her lip. He rocked back on the chair's legs for a moment, not seeing her. She was ready to put down some muggle money and head home, when he picked up a spoon and began absent mindedly playing with it. "You called me 'Draco."

She heard him, but barely remembered. The connection between them had still been collapsing. She had still been inside him a bit. She could hear herself saying it more than it had been intentional. She nodded. "I did," she said.

He nodded, still looking past her, over her shoulder, out the window of the café. For once, she wanted to know what he was thinking about. He lowered the spoon into his untouched coffee and began to stir without cause. "So… what do you reckon they meant in the rest of the rhyme?"

* * *

A warm sun was setting in the Valley of the Kings, as it was once known. Sheep herding men and women carrying baskets of grains and fruits were heading back to their village from the Tiber, having gathered all they needed for the week. Children played in the tall reeds, and the balance of energy was right. The village would reap a bountiful harvest, they knew. They walked along harmoniously toward their homes.

A breeze kicked dust into the air, then, carrying seeds and leaves along with it. Many continued on the path toward home unchanged. Hamid Yosef, the tribal priest, paused. He watched the dust as it was carried up off the ground and into the air. He watched it swell over the Tiber, swirling and following its course, until it disappeared in his vision toward The Mountain. He turned his head and watched as his village marched on. His people; what he worked so hard to protect. And they were happy. He turned back to the mountain.

"They come, two halves… to find one path," he said to himself under his breath. He took a deep breath, burdened by a memory, before turning back to face his people… and as he did, clouds formed over the mighty mountainside. He heard the lightening, though he dared not turn around.

It had begun.


	5. Chapter 5: Choices We Make

In the following weeks, Hermione poured the research of the last nine months back into her, searching for clues about the rhyme she'd heard in her kitchen with Draco Malfoy. Each time she thought she might be getting close to something, the outcome seemed unrelated. At the end of a particularly frustrating night, she closed her books and sighed. _Two weeks…_ she reminded herself. She pushed herself up from her desk and walked into her kitchen. With a tap from her wand, she began boiling water for tea. She sauntered in the flat toward her most neglected room: The Living Room. She'd realized after making several payments on the flat that she hadn't needed this much space. She was often by herself, and the living room did little more than collect dust and cat hair. Currently, it was serving its purpose as a healthy spreading ground for her files, all laid out for her to see, equally. "Lumos," she said, and the room lightened. She walked into the room and took a seat on the couch, a whiff of dust blowing up from the cushion as she did.

It wasn't a bad room, she thought. Nice, big fireplace… cozy loveseat… a cabinet against the wall holding knick knacks from school, and a window she could look out to when she got her office cabin fever…. But, she knew nothing would ever compare to the roaring fire of the Gryffindor common room, a dozen friendly faces welcoming you with a laugh or a tease whenever you came or went, and her two best friends dependably being found there on a regular basis. It was no wonder the room laid as a forgotten memory. She rose and padded toward the fireplace. With a little effort, she lit it, and basked in the closeness of a warm fire for the first time in ages.

The kettle began to shriek. She went to it and added tea bags to the steaming water. Wrapping the oversized, button up sweater around her, she moved back toward the loveseat. She couldn't wait for the springtime. Her parents had gone on Holiday in Spain just themselves for Christmas, and though spending it with The Potters was always lovely, the snowfall just didn't hold the same beauty after the Christmas lights came down. She always longed for spring in January.

Having a seat on her sofa, and taking her first sip of tea, she glanced into her fireplace and jumped nearly a foot into the air.

"Granger?" his voice filled the room. The hot tea splashed to the floor and she wiped it off herself best as she could.

"_Seriously,_ Malfoy? No warning at all?"

"…That _was_ a warning, Granger."

She scowled and rushed into her bedroom for a towel. "Mondere!" she said as she went. It was as if an icy bucket had fallen over her head. She gasped and dripped the whole way to her laundry hamper, cursing, and pulled one out. She stripped off her clothing with some difficulty as it clung to her wet skin and pulled her fluffy robe over herself. She walked back into her living room and approached the fireplace.

"Hmm. And here I thought we were only learning to be civil, Granger. Got you out of your pants right quick, I did."

"You can be so foul. Spell backfired," she admitted, wearily. She had wondered momentarily, better to admit failure… or have him thinking he had any kind of power over her? Neither could be good for his ego.

"My, my. There _is_ something you can't do."

She frowned at him.

"And a simple cleaning spell, at that—"

"Any luck with the family research?"

He smirked at her. Even with flames licking up his face, she thought, he was equally as diabolical as he was handsome. _Gross._ Thank Merlin she knew him better than that.

"Nothing in the library, the archives, or the family letters my mother has stuffed in her top dresser drawer. You'd be amazed what the woman considers sentimental."

"I've got scratch over here, as well. It's a shame. I just _know_ there are parts to this that I'm not seeing… the latin for "Truth," is easy enough… and the Mountain… if only we had heard the rest…."

"Maybe there was no 'rest.' Maybe that's all they were willing to tell us."

"It's a test," she decided. "They want us to figure it out, ourselves."

"Listen to you. Is this what it was like being one of the Golden Three in school?" he drawled. She gasped._  
_

"Malfoy. When do the students return to Hogwarts on the Express from Holiday?"

"I dunno," he replied, "Now?"

She turned from the fireplace and strode to her office.

"Come on Granger, I don't have time for you to slip into something more comfortable every time I start to get a little bored!" he called from the other room. She ignored him. She found what she was searching for underneath a mountain of paperwork. Her calendar. It was Saturday, January 20th.

"Yes…" she said. She hightailed it back to the fireplace.

"The Express will take the kids back in two days!"

"Whoop-de-doo, Granger."

"Don't you _see?_ The library!"

"Merlin's beard, I've called forth the real Hermione Granger."

"I swear you're going to make me choke you."

"Don't threaten me with… no, just don't threaten me, at all. It's not very attractive." Hermione sighed.

"The only place I've ever found all the answers I needed… the one place that has more books than I do, or Diagon Alley, or ANY of the other schools, is Hogwarts! I read it in _Hogwarts, A…_ well… nevermind. This is where we need to go, Draco!"

He went silent. She narrowed her eyes.

"What is it now?"

"Nothing. Just… you called me Draco… again." She was perplexed.

"That is your _name. _What's the big deal?"

"I certainly never call you _Hermione,_ now do I?"

She guffawed at him. "You've _got_ to be joking. What is it you think we're doing here? Making believe? We're not in _school_ anymore, Malfoy. We can't be enemies over the floo, but partners in the coffee shop. We're working _together_ to figure this out—for you, and for me, but not for US. There is no US. And there's no reason to turn into a bubbling, nervous, self-hating schoolgirl any time I dare to use your first bloody name. Grow up."

"You're the one talking of going back to Hogwarts—"

"I mean it, Malfoy. You can do this by yourself, or you can do it with me, but I'm too old to tiptoe around your miniscule feelings. With your resources to purebloods and my research, I think we're stronger working together… but I'm willing to do this without you. Decide."

He looked as if she'd slapped him, and she couldn't understand why. Was he really so much of a child that he couldn't separate his business from his personal feelings? …Did he really think that _her own_ personal feelings against him weren't just as negative as his?

"Fine," he said, suddenly, snapping her back. "Meet me at King's Cross Station, then. Monday." She nodded, her lips tight. She went to bow out.

"And Granger," he started. She turned to listen. "I _don't _have to _always_ be with you, or against you. Don't ever try to tell me what to do. And as for 'growing up,' you may want to learn to take care of yourself just a little bit and learn a simple fifth year, housekeeping spell. "Mondere," he said clearly. Her wet locks dried instantly where they'd hung, wet, and her robe went fuzzy and warm once more. She glared at him. He smirked for just a moment. "You don't look half bad right now, Granger... for a Mudblood." He backed out. She stared into the green flames, anger welling in her esophagus. She withdrew and cursed under her breath.

"We can't all be good at every single _bloody_ spell, now can we," she said, glancing around her messy flat. She sat on the floor and absentmindedly played with a stray quill. She sighed. "Bollocks."

* * *

Draco Malfoy was livid. Being forced to listen to her every self-righteous little bit of advice, having no idea how he really felt, or what he had to go through just to be able to go on this quest with her, was so infuriating that he could concentrate on little else… and in these moments, all that gave him pleasure was bringing her to that level along with him. Up, or down, he didn't know. He wanted to. That was her purpose in all this.

He rose from the fireplace in the large Malfoy Manor's lower level office. The word for this room… "Ratty," he decided. Neglected. Forgotten; like his family. He shuddered. He hated being back here.

He left the room and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He walked along the dismal, gray hallways full of cobwebs and secrets. They were practically whispering to him. _No,_ he reminded himself._ Not whispering. It's all in your head._ He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and held it. He reached the grand staircase in the foyer and thought of his old childhood bedroom up those stairs. The room he used to play in with his fairytale toys… second door on the left. The room he'd been forced to leave when it was time for him to be branded the way all the men in his recent line before him had been… the brand that still stung on his arm whenever he questioned his roots… his family… his blood.

He turned away from the stairs and headed down toward the front doors. He twisted the knob and it groaned underneath his weight. He sighed and with a pop, he was gone. He apparated in front of the garden shed and smiled. It was overrun with weeds, covered in an assortment of insects, and it smelled like leftover fertilizer… it would have made his mother sick… and it was where he'd spent the last year of his life. It was home. He opened the door and climbed inside.

* * *

Hermione took a long, lazy shower on Sunday morning. She washed her hair and brushed the cat. She raised her wand to her thick locks and thought briefly of casting Draco's spell… but lowered her hand, feeling awfully defeated. Vulnerable. She preferred her rage.

She dressed in a simple pair of jeans and an oversized sweater, and slid her feet into he slippers. She tied her hair on top of her head in a messy bun and she set to start packing for her trip to Hogwarts, tomorrow.

She was glad to have called Minerva McGonagall, her old favorite professor, and to have arranged her and her "partner's" trip on the Hogwarts Express. Still the school's Head Mistress, she'd offered to give Hermione and Draco room and board for a week, and allow them access to The Library and the Grounds. Though at first astounded at their choice in partnership—and really, she had _no_ idea—she was quite willing to negotiate their visit anyway, as long as two of the most notorious trouble makers in Hogwarts' history agreed not to disrupt any of her classes, of course.

That had been last night. And ever since the trip became real, Hermione couldn't understand the way she was feeling. In less than a year, she'd accepted her plight to work endlessly in her goal to discover the root of magic… she'd lost sleep, most of her relationships, and money to discover things she'd only hoped of knowing… and then she'd had to wrap her mind around Draco Malfoy, her old abuser, and now she was facing something that only half of her was ready to believe… he had changed.

Sure, he could try to hide beneath his empty threats and name-calling and rejection to her normal human behavior… but that was so typical of him. And she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there was something there. She had seen it. She had _felt_ it. There was more to Draco Malfoy than met the eye. She wasn't ready to dismiss him just yet… but she also knew she had to be careful around him. If he was keeping things he didn't want her to see locked inside, there was no telling what else might be under there. But, she could do it. She was one of "The Golden Three," after all.

Her feelings had always been clear to her. She loved Harry and Ron—even when they irritated her, she loved them. She was content with Ron, and she felt safe with Harry. She had fun with Ginny and she felt responsible and proud around her parents… but around Draco Malfoy, she felt something entirely different… out of control, quick to anger, and unsure of what he- or even SHE- might do. Around him, she hardly trusted herself more than she trusted him… and unpredictability was something that as a scientific witch, she was uncomfortable with.

"Hello hello?" She heard from the doorway. She dropped a folded nightgown into her suitcase and walked into her kitchen. Ginny stood in the front doorway, Lily on her hip. Hermione beamed.

"Gin!" she called, moving toward her. She took the baby from her arms and let Ginny drop her purse and wand on the kitchen table and stretch out her shoulders. Lily babbled as she tugged on a tendril of Hermione's curls. _Now how did THAT escape?_

"We were just in the neighborhood!" Ginny said, smiling widely. "Took Lils out for her first ever visit to Modema's Young Witches Day School." Ginny was positively glowing. Hermione stared at her for a beat.

"Gin…" she began. Ginny blushed, her smile widening. "Are you…?"

"Yup. We're working on baby number two as we speak!" she said. Hermione gasped.

"Oh, Ginny that's wonderful! Does Harry know?" Ginny shook her head.

"Not yet. We're going out tonight. George's gonna watch Lily for us. She loves her Uncle Georgey," she said, fluffing Lily's bright auburn hair. Hermione's smile faltered.

"How's George doing?" she asked.

"Oh, a bit better," Ginny said, her eyes on her daughter. "He comes more than he goes, these days… and the prosthetic ear is fitting loads better. He's just… I mean, you know. If something happened to Harry, I'd feel the same way. Or, you know… if something happened to _Ron—"_

Hermione rolled her eyes. For years, Ginny had been convincing herself that they only needed space- that Hermione and Ron would be back together before they got much older. She thought Ron needed to grow up. Hermione knew better. Ron was a child at _heart_, not in his head, and no amount of maturing was ever going to change that. Besides, she knew he was truly happy now, more than she ever could have made him. He had been a close fit, with Hermione, like two pieces of a puzzle, one the sky and one the grass that _fit_ together, but would never truly form a complete picture. And though she'd enjoyed interlocking with him… when his correct match had come along, she had to fill the sky on her own for a while and let the grass grow on without her.

"It's not happening, Gin," she reminded her. Ginny sighed. She had wanted Hermione to be her sister-in-law, she knew. But Hermione didn't need the assurance. She was related to Ron and Harry by something deeper than blood, or matrimony… and she'd never really placed any significant value on either of the two. They were her brothers, regardless, and Ginny, her sister.

"Well let me know if you ever come to your senses," she said, giggling. "So," she changed the subject, "How's the Malfoy Matter coming along?" Hermione snickered.

"I knew Harry wouldn't keep a secret."

"Well not from _me_, he wouldn't!"

"It's coming along nicely," Hermione said and Ginny's brows flew up.

"This _is_ Draco Malfoy we're talking about, right? The King Ferret himself? Slytherin's Armpit? The Bloody Baron's Arsehole?"

Hermione turned pink with laughter.

"It _is_ Draco Malfoy," Hermione said, "but Ginny, I'm not going to let a little thing like him being the world's most unreasonable human being stop me from working on the project of my dreams. I've managed to put my feelings aside, and he's managed to… keep the insults to a dull roar."

"I could hex him for you, ya know. My morals are smaller than yours. _And_ I'm pregnant! Judge would be lenient on me. All those pesky hormones." Hermione shoved her arm a little and Ginny giggled.

"Unnecessary," she assured her. "Besides. We're traveling to Hogwarts tomorrow and I'd rather he arrives there in one piece since McGonagall already knows we're both coming." Ginny stilled a little. Hermione noticed. She had known this was going to happen, and she braced herself.

"You guys are going to be traveling together?"

"Well… yes. Good deal of what we'll need to do for research involves going out into the world and you know… searching."

"As in, just the two of you,"

"Well, probably."

"Away from other wizards?"

"Ginny—"

"Away from the Aurors, Hermione?"

Hermione took a deep breath, began to count. She'd expected this. Ginny had lost more family than Hermione had at the hands of The Death Eaters, and she knew The Dark Mark still burned brightly on Draco Malfoy's arm. She didn't like having to work with him… but that was just it. She _had_ to.

"Ginny, please. I'm on my level, here. I will be fine. I've slept with one eye open before, and I can do it again. If I thought for even half a second that he was up to something, I would kick him out on his arse before you could even think twice."

She heard herself saying it. She felt like she meant it… but she _did_ have second thoughts about Draco Malfoy… and she _hadn't _kicked him out on his arse, yet… and letting two tears roll down the face of her best girl friend, pregnant with another best friend's child at her expense, she felt her heart breaking… making a choice she hadn't realized she'd made until right then.


	6. Chapter 6: Home Again to Hogwarts

Hermione jogged down the platform with her suitcase rolling behind her. She felt so nostalgic. She couldn't wait to buy a treacle tart, read as the train streamed through the mountains, and wake up from a nap just as the train rolled into its station to let them off at Hogwarts. Part of her wished it was for _the year_, not just a trip to the library. She so missed not having the chance to finish her seven years at Hogwarts… even more than she'd missed her family after obliterating their memories. She had always hoped she'd have the chance to go back to school, as she'd had the chance to go back to the ones she loved, but never thought it would really happen… and she was already preparing herself for having to leave after only a week of reliving how wonderful it had felt to be there.

Platforms 9 and 10 stood apart from one another, and she glanced down the hall to see several families with groups of children carrying large trunks. She smiled. She shrugged off to one of the many cafes that littered the Kings Cross sidelines and waited for Draco. She bought a tea and watched as the mothers and fathers hugged the young witches and wizards goodbye and sent them disappearing through the platform. She sipped her tea and felt herself relaxing in this familiar routine… ten years ago, she'd be returning to school with a belly full of dad's best breakfast, new clothes and shoes from mum, and plenty of books with uncracked spines for her to dig into when she got back to Hogwarts. How had she ever taken it for granted?

"Hermione?"

She jumped. Neville Longbottom stood before her in a well-tailored, brown suit. He wore glasses, a jade leaf pin over his breast pocket, and he had a trolley cart behind him pulling what looked like… quaking suitcases along with him. He immediately pulled Hermione into a tight hug. She lost her footing and breath for a moment.

"Merlin, it's good to see you, 'Mione!" She hugged him back, giggled at him in spite of herself. He kissed her cheek and released her. He was beaming down at her. He'd gotten taller since she saw him last, she realized.

"What are you doing here? Heading off on one of your expeditions?" he asked her.

"Actually, no, _Professor_, I'm going exactly where you are!" His jaw fell open.

"No way! Wicked! We _have_ to share a compartment. Got loads to tell you about—"

"Granger," she heard from behind him. She reflexively closed her eyes as Neville turned around. She knew he'd recognize the voice even before he saw him.

"Should we board the platform? Or would you rather keep playing with your friend?"

* * *

His hair was pulled back messily behind him, today. He couldn't deal with it falling into his eyes on the train. He'd always gotten motion sickness from the damn thing, and he wished Granger had found them another way to travel. The teachers never took the train, after all. Why should he have to now, an adult, hiding the rolling ocean in his belly. He grimaced just thinking about it. He had several hours of discomfort ahead of him. He only hoped Granger wasn't planning on filling it with memories of her school days, and if she was, he really might ralph.

It didn't take him long to find her. She was sitting in the little café where she could look onto Platform 9 ¾, watching the little kiddies say goodbye to mummy and daddy. "Biological Clock," he figured. Most women liked to look at kids, he supposed. His own mother hadn't been like that. He'd been enough for her. _Or_, he thought, _she simply didn't care. _

Carrying an over-the-shoulder bag with him, he headed her way, uncapping an Anti-Nausea potion from the flask in his trousers and taking a swig. _Should've had the forethought to make it a 'Sleeping' potion as well…._

Then, it happened. Longbottom came seemingly from nowhere—he probably_ had_ Draco realized. He'd probably apparated, and he'd noticed Granger immediately (because who WOULDN'T see her instantly, under that mane of hair? Who _else_ could it have been?) He saw her eyes light up, the color that came into her cheeks… and the great Draco Malfoy… was _jealous._

Made sense, he reckoned. A guy wakes up from a coma, spends a couple of weeks working with a girl, and hopes that even just for a minute she'd get a little bit of enjoyment from dealing with him… even if he has no such enjoyment from being with _her_… why? _Because you're an egotistical prat,_ he thought. Everyone was supposed to worship Draco Malfoy, yes? All girls should be shaking and wishing for him, even if they hated him… they should be _secretly_ pining, yes? He hated his father for ever building up this false sense of entitlement he always felt. He felt like a fool.

He shrugged it aside, and walked right up to them.

"… have to share a compartment. Got loads to tell you about—" He saw red for just a moment. She hadn't told him? He stepped forward.

"Granger?" He saw her dread before Longbottom even heard his voice. He saw the light and color drain away. He saw her eyelids come down, and the red he had seen melted away. Was _that_ the true feeling he invoked in people? Father had been way off, indeed. Bitterness rose up in his throat like bile. If she was insisting upon being miserable, he could at least add a little fire to the pot.

"Should we board the platform? Or would you rather keep playing with your friend?"

Longbottom looked between them, instantly off his game. "Oh," he said, finally, as the pieces came together. A noise caught Draco's attention. He looked at the trolley cart Longbottom was pulling around. The suitcases on it appeared to be jumping, shaking. There was something alive inside, for certain.

"What the hell is that?" he asked, gesturing to the cases. Neville eyed them, pet the cases, and a soft purring filled the air. He turned to Granger.

"It's what I was going to tell you about," he said to her, then turned to eye Draco. He looked between them again. "You two are traveling together?" he asked. She took a deep breath. Draco knew it was equally dread and impatience- having to explain. At least he wasn't the only one who felt it.

"Yeah," Draco said and Neville turned to meet his eyes. "What's it to you?" He could feel Neville's bewilderment and suspicion climbing. He could also sense his desire to protect Hermione from him. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

Granger- thank Merlin- knew better than to let the exchange continue. She immediately stepped between them. Draco felt the tension coming from Neville dissipate. It seemed _all_ the Gryffindors had a thing for this one, back in the day.

"Neville, it's nothing, really. Draco and I—" he stiffened, tried to hide it from her— "are working on a project together for The Department of Magical History and Research, that's all. His intentions are good on this one—"

"His intentions are never _good,_ Hermione. He's a Malfoy for Merlin's sake."

"And the name of_ Longbottom_ holds SUCH prestige," he cut in, sarcastically. Neville's hand twitched toward his wand. Draco didn't miss it. He reached for his own.

"Stop it," Granger said, crossly, looking between the men. "I'll not have you drawing suspicion to us in front of all these muggles. _You_ ought to know better," she spit at Neville. He looked down, ashamed. Draco was disgusted.

"You know what? I couldn't care less. You wanna make time with Granger on the train, Longbottom? Fine. Gets her out of my hair for a few hours. Just do me a favor and stay out of our room when we get to the school, because the thought of waking up, rolling over and seeing _you two_ without your robes on in her bed is really just more than I ever needed to picture." He turned to Hermione, winked at her, his face cold. "Be seeing you, love." He turned and walked toward the platform. Hermione turned to a very brassed off Neville and sighed.

"I can explain," she said.

* * *

Hermione and Neville sat in their locked compartment; just the two of them, a pile of empty treat wrappers between them. Neville was puzzling, absentmindedly moving his hands in his hair behind his ear.

"So all this about Malfoy aside, then…" he started, at last, "it sounds like what you're looking for is on that mountain."

"Right," Hermione stated, leaning forward onto her knees, her hands twisting together thoughtfully between them. "Two halves, one path, "his wrath,"—"

"That's the tricky part, yeah? Because… I mean who is _He_? I remember The Kings- the mythology- and what they were capable of. I remember the Mountain of The Sky-Chambers… and legend says that they disappeared, even in the Muggle Lore. No human being seems to know where they went, or whether or not they even existed."

"They did," Hermione said, looking away. "Everything I found in my research of Ancient Iraq, in Art and Magic points to their existence. The magic there… it was old, Neville. Too old."

"How so?"

"Magic, when separated from its original source, it… it has a certain color… it has facets, like a gemstone. When the magic is young, it's in its raw, pure form. It's white, typically. The older it gets, the more essence of the world around it transfers into it… the _energy_ around it becomes part of the magic itself… and the magic in Iraq was… yellow. It was yellow, barely any white. And some of it was _black._" Neville's brows went up.

"_Black magic_ as more than just a symbolic expression?"

"I think so. I think maybe that's where it comes from… and to be that old, and that potent, it had to have been them, Neville. The foundations of most of the wandless spells we still use today have yellow essence- watered way, way down. I think the Mountain is the vessel. I think it all started there. But who 'He' is, is a mystery."

Neville sighed, ruffling his hair off his neck. It was shaggy, Hermione noticed. It made his long head and neck look wider, more childlike… more handsome. She'd always known he had a crush on her. She could never get past the school boy he'd been in her mind. Here he was, a successful Herbologist working at the most prestigious Wizarding School in the world, speaking logically and deductively about the project she was working on… she wished _he_ were the one financially funding the project for her. Wouldn't that have been magnificent? They could have traveled the world together... tumbled into bed. But, could she ever be attracted to him? Have chemistry? Or would he too just be... lukewarm? She had no idea. Because every once of her passion was still in a back compartment with Draco Malfoy, stabbing him in the neck. And it would be, she reckoned, until she cut him back out of her life when their work together was over; just another reason to push ahead.

"Two halves, one path, his wrath… _Truth…_ and The Mountain. That's all they said?"

"It's all we heard. The buzzing was so loud… the _chanting_. Any idea what 'two halves' might be?" Neville smirked.

"Yeah," he said, leaning forward. "You and Malfoy."

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke, drooling on his own arm. He straightened himself out and looked out the window over the rolling mountains; checked his watch. They'd be there in… _bugger_. 45 more minutes. He sighed. He stretched out his legs and made contact with feet. He jumped, looking around. "Bugger o—" he looked around him. The compartment was filled with what appeared to be Hufflepuff girls… young girls… maybe 13… and wearing yellow and brown apparel. They'd been trading cards, he realized, but couldn't see what kind.

_Son of a… _

"He's awake!" he heard one of them whisper. He grit his teeth. What in Merlin's great saggy left nut could they want with him?

"Excuse me… Mister?"

He looked to the smallest one, her blonde hair tied back neatly behind her. She was sitting with her knees together, freckles standing on the end of her nose, her lips tight, and her eyes focused. She had a slight Scottish accent.

"You wouldn't be _Draco Malfoy, _would you?" He was surprised. The rest of them broke into whispers he couldn't discern. The children of Hogwarts had _heard_ of Draco Malfoy? Even when his peers and elders had forgotten him? Maybe life wasn't as soggy as he once thought. He straightened up, shook out his hair as it had come nearly completely out of the elastic that had held it back, earlier. He saw a couple of them turn pink. He clicked his tongue inside his mouth and smirked. _Still got it, after all. _

"I am," he said, leaning toward her a little. More whispers. "And who, might I ask, are you?"

"I'm Cornelia Johnson-Wood; third year: Gryffindor. I believe… you've met my parents: Oliver Wood and Angelina Johnson?" His stomach turned to stone. The child of not one, but _two_ members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was sitting before him? And she was… _13_? Well they certainly hadn't wasted any time, had they? He looked between all their faces.

"You're Gryffindors, then?"

"Not all of us," she stated, gesturing with her head to the girl by her side, a brunette with cropped hair and a cartilage piercing up on her ear that was changing colors as Draco looked at it from white to pink to red as all of the attention was suddenly on her. "This is Octavia Gemini. She's American. She's a Ravenclaw." She pointed to the three girls across from them. "That's Cassie Reynolds, Hufflepuff, Jenny Bottleborn, Gryffendor also, and Bathilda Yewlitski, also Ravenclaw." She motioned around Draco now toward the girl on the other side of him, so tall and lean that Draco had completely missed her when he glanced _past_ her and out the window. "And that's Julissa Beowin. She's a Slytherin." Draco looked between them all, all their faces and diversities.

"Not enough compartments on the train?" he asked. Her small eyebrows knit together.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why are you all sitting together." He heard a sigh from the Slytherin beside him. He turned to see her roll her eyes, gritting her teeth.

"Because, _Malfoy,_" she said, "things are not as they _were_ when _you_ went to Hogwarts. The rest of us don't take part in your… social suicide. We're _friends. _But you probably don't know what that's like..."

Had a 13-year-old girl just told him about himself? He was shocked. And a _Slytherin_ at that! Ten years ago, she'd have been offering to shine his shoes just to talk to him. The world had changed, indeed.

"Well, then…" he said, unsure of what to say, of how much they knew… of what they were expecting from him. "What are we trading?"

"Quidditch cards," Cornelia said, flipping through hers, no longer interested in him. "Want to see?" The others looked just as surprised as he was that she was talking with him freely like this. He glanced at the cards. He pursed his lips.

"How would your parents feel, knowing you were playing games with Draco Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express?" he asked, expecting a reaction. She just blinked at him and smiled.

"I don't know that they'd think much of it at all," she said. He furrowed his brow, smirking at her.

"And how is that?" he asked.

"They know I can take care of myself."

"She's the brightest witch of our year," Octavia cut in. It was clear she was the best friend—and a little jealous of the words that just came out of her mouth. Classic Ravenclaw. Malfoy looked back to Cornelia.

"Then surely, smart thing like you must realize I've had far more experience and schooling than you have. If I wanted to attack you—"

"Then my daddy would get one of the things he's been wanting since I can remember."

"What's that?"

"To punch Draco Malfoy in the balls."

* * *

The train rolled to a halt at the outer corners of the Hogwarts grounds above the lake and Hermione stepped off with Neville, ready to be back on still ground. _Draco and I? Two halves? Two halves of WHAT? _She wondered. Neville motioned to her over his shoulder. "Let's go this way. We don't need the boats or carriages. I need to stop off at Hagrid's to get rid of these," he motioned to his cluster of suitcases still purring and sneezing behind him.

"Neville, there isn't anything _dangerous_ in those, is there?" she asked. He took in a sharp breath.

"Merlin, I completely forgot to tell you! We got so caught up, I… Hermione. Hagrid is sick," he said.

"What?!"

"Nothing fatal, don't panic, but… you know, the giant in him gives him a much longer lifespan, and…. Well, the _human_ in him should already be quite old. He's experiencing some complications in his bones. I went to Romania over the break to get these," he referenced the suitcases. "They're Felinic Arnicia Infantes," he said.

"Of course," she said, looking to the suitcases. "They can deposit healthy bone marrow. I heard of them at St. Mungos when Ginny was delivering Lily. Fellow next door had lost his leg and they were regrowing one from scratch in the lab, poor bugger."

Neville smiled, reached down and unzipped his suitcase. Little faces of kittens made of what looked like leafy green scales purred their way forward. One meowed at Hermione and she reached to pet her. Neville stilled her hand.

"Careful," he said. "The animal part of them may be cuddly, but the plant part of them is likely to latch on and start working on your bones. Might end up with a third hand."

She snatched her hand back. "Let's get them to Hagrid, then," she said. "He must be in so much pain."

"I wish I could say you were wrong," he said under his breath, and they started walking up the trees toward the path through the forest that Hermione knew from experience would take them to just behind Hagrid's cabin.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had just spent the last 45 minutes with a bunch of little girls who were no more afraid of him than they were ready to share their prized and newly purchased Bigonville Bombers Quidditch cards. Their parents had sprung for their tickets to see a game of them versus Thundelarra Thunderers over the Holiday break… that's why they were all in yellow and brown, of course. "Team Spirit."

He could see the boats waiting and the horses drawn by the great, ugly Thestrals- invisible though he was sure they were to these little girls- but when he looked for the imposing body of the half-breed giant, Hagrid… he found none. _Must've died, then_ he thought, shrugging it off. He was old, after all. It was a shame. There were things he'd been meaning to ask the old nutter.

"Draco Malfoy, where will you sit when we get to the Great Hall?" Cornelia asked him, peering up at him in the dusky semi-darkness that was falling on the grounds.

"I'll manage," he said, looking around at the snow-laced trees, the sun just barely set, still dappling the rocky hillside with streaks of yellow. He hadn't realized he'd missed this, until now. Funny, he thought… he'd thrown away a beautiful home for a garden shack- after he'd fired the gardener… and he was nostalgic over a piece of land. Ridiculous.

He climbed into a carriage and settled in for a ride back to the castle as he watched many of the girls try to cram themselves all into one. He shot the door of his own and locked it from the inside. He needed a moment away from the chatter…

_So my daddy can punch Draco Malfoy in the balls,_ he thought. _Well. At least they've heard of me._

When the carriage started moving for the castle, he was glad to be away from the train. Already he could feel the sloshing in his stomach calming down, and the girls hadn't really helped it even if they had distracted him from his thoughts for a while: the slamming doors, the empty rooms… the accusations. He shook it off. He didn't need that right now.

_I'm sharing a room with Hermione Granger_, he thought. _Now that's interesting._ He wondered vaguely if she was still a virgin, or if she'd managed to give it up for The Weasel, at all. She'd probably balk at sleeping in the same room with him… would probably wear at least six different pairs of trousers to bed… he chuckled. But that wasn't right, was it? The girl had too much fury, too much passion in her. She couldn't truly be a _prude. _Maybe just toward _him,_ but… he had a feeling she could throw caution, the rules, and her regrets to the wind in a hot second if the moment required it… and while he was certain he had the wherewithal to give that moment to her, that mounting desire that would set her free from all her anxiety and trepidation… he didn't plan on it. The last thing he needed was a Gryffindor in love; a lost kitten. He rolled his eyes. No time for any of _that._

And it was a shame that that was the type of girl she'd be, and he knew she would… because really, she wasn't all that unattractive, even with the hair that never ended, or the colorless, dark looks she gave him. Even underneath her misery, he could smell the fire in her muggle-born blood. She had always been the least revolting of The Three Do-Gooders, even with her blood status… not that that mattered to him- or anyone else- anymore… he suspected it was why it was so much bloody _fun_ to torment her. It was one of the few things he could control that made him _feel_, anymore.

The carriage rolled up in front of the castle doors and he shrugged himself out, looking around for the Do-Gooder in question. He couldn't see her, or Neville's trolley cart of bouncing suitcases anywhere. He narrowed his eyes.

_If he dragged her off to the woods for a little 'hands on' I'm gonna_—

"Draco? Draco _Malfoy_?" He turned around and faced a woman he almost hoped _had_ died, Sybill Trelawney. And how had the old cow ever remembered him?

"Hey, professor," he said, unsure of what else he might say to her. They had never been close. He had only taken her one class. Had she _really_ remembered his name? Bollocks, she hadn't even remembered it when he was in _school_!"

She grasped him, hard, by his shoulders and slammed him up against the castle wall, away from the doors. He felt her own body rock against the blow as she did.

"Professor, what the _HELL?!"_ he looked into her eyes, prying, wincing from the blow, but they were black.

"_He will not know you. He will not remember them. His wand is broken, in spirit. The essence is gone. In the vault—the lost vault—he lies. He waits. He knows you come for him… but he knows not who you are. The one in charge, he waits for HER. Two halves of one whole—the key. You will set them free. And they will change the world. Be ready for battle. The third week of the fifth month. Wear silver."_

He shook free and the movement seemed to startle her. She took a deep breath, then a second. She looked at the wall, then to Draco. Her eyes narrowed.

"Oh… who… are you lost, my son?"

"Trelawney! You just bloody ATTACKED me!" he shouted. And without another word, rubbing her left shoulder, she fainted.

* * *

Hermione and Neville sauntered up to Hagrid's cabin, which looked quite as Hermione had remembered it, charming and quaint, overrun with pests and weeds. It was a part of the word 'home' for her that would never disappear.

"Wait here," Neville said. "He wouldn't want you to… just… wait here." Hermione paused by the gate, leaning her suitcase against Hagrid's fence. She watched as Neville pulled the trolley toward his front door. She saw him knock, but was a little far off to hear if Hagrid responded… but when he opened that door… Hermione's heart broke. Her hand flew to her throat at the sound from behind the door. Neville quickly grabbed a suitcase, went in, and shut the door behind him.

Hermione ran for the door, but Neville had already locked it.

"Neville Longbottom, you let me in or I will hex you blind!"

She could hear Hagrid screaming from inside the door. She rammed it once, twice… she pulled out her wand. "Alohamora!" she bellowed. The door didn't budge. She pulled the handle as hard as she could. And then, behind the door, it sounded as though the screaming was abading… he was choking it in a little… it turned to a groan. She heard him coughing.

"Neville?" she asked. Tears had sprung to her eyes. "Hagrid?"

"'oo's that?" she heard from the husky, breaking voice inside. She quickly wiped away her tears, and her mouth with the back of her sleeve. She heard the lock clicking, and Neville mutter a spell. The door opened.

"Sorry, Hermione," he said looking down, his cheeks red. "He never would have forgiven me—"

She slapped him. "Don't you _ever_ do something like that to me, again. I've lost… too many friends." His eyes never left the ground. She bit her bottom lip, reached and threw her arms around him. He backed up into Hagrid's doorway as she did, hugging her back. "I'm sorry, Neville," she said, blinking away more tears. "Gut reaction."

"No, I get it," he assured her, letting her go. He looked a little embarrassed, pink around his ears. She sniffed and took a step away from him. She rushed to Hagrid, laying haphazardly over his bed, his feet stretching across the floor, but she stopped at the imagery… he was covered in the tiny, green, leafy kittens, who were all lightly licking his joints.

"I… is this how they…"

"They're healing him. They can sense the damage to his bones."

Her eyes traipsed over the scene in wonder.

"I've spent a year exploring only the root of magical origin… and still, things like this… they amaze me."

From the bed, Hagrid was breathing heavily.

"Is that… 'ermione?" his voice was frail for such a gigantic man. She stepped better into what little light was in his cabin.

"It's me, Hagrid… I'm here."

"Oh… it's good ter see yer…" he started, trailing off. It wasn't long before she heard him lightly snoring.

"I'll come back tomorrow," she whispered to Neville. He nodded.

"I'm just gonna leave these out back in the garden, give them some water for the night… I'll come back for them in the morning. Meet you up at the school, later."

"Right. See you, Neville," she stepped out of the cabin and shut the door behind them. Merlin that had been tough. Why hadn't she written him? She'd become so engrossed in her projects… she'd never even asked him how he was… after he'd done so much for her. She felt sick, but she grabbed her suitcase by the handle and trudged up to the castle for the feast, anyway.

It wasn't long before she reached the doors. She opened them, one hand deep in her pocket and the other one pulling her suitcase behind her. Her feet falling on the hall's marble floors were like bells in her ears, and she had yearned for the smell in air for years. Somewhere upstairs, she imagined Peeves was going through a new student's Christmas presents, tearing them apart and cackling. She smiled widely. _Can't believe I'm finally back…. _

She rounded the corner and came face to face with a large crowd in the Great Hall, no food on the tables, and a very angry Head Mistress who was looking each and every way- until her eyes landed on Hermione.

"Miss Granger," she spoke, loudly, and the students all looked in her direction, one by one. "So nice of you to join us… now, if you and your partner are done terrorizing my students, and _assaulting_ my staff, I suggest you join us both in the Head Mistress's office. _Immediately." _


	7. Chapter 7: Prophecies and Power Plays

WARNING: This chapter does contain explicit sexual descriptions in the last section. If you're uncomfortable reading, please feel free to pass it by, and it will be mentioned in the next chapter—you will miss out on nothing, plot wise, but sexy sexy. Enjoy.

* * *

Hermione stood in the center of Minerva McGonagall's personal office, before her large, mahogany desk, which was neatly organized; not a quill out of place. Draco Malfoy sat to the left of her, tied down to one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Hermione had not sat down yet. She couldn't. Her heart had been trying to beat its way out of her chest since McGonagall had addressed her in the hall, and she was so scared and enraged that sitting down was no longer an option. She glanced at Draco.

"I've seen you tied up far too often for my taste," she chastised. He shrugged.

"Or not often enough, given the circumstances."

"You're a git."

Why he kept insisting on tormenting her with his pretend flirting, she had no idea. It was a new low for him, she had to admit. At least when he was insulting her high IQ, her bloodline, or the way she looked, she understood

From upstairs, Hermione heard yet another impassioned wail from Sybill Trelawney, who she was certain was most likely hyping up whatever _had_ transpired between she and Draco Malfoy… the question she was asking herself was just what he had done to her. She wanted to believe it was nothing- just blown out of proportion. But having ever _met _him before, she wasn't about to rule out the fact that he had done something revolting.

"All right, Sybill, all right. I will take care of it, for goodness sake, now _please…_ just lay here for a bit and rest. I will be right back." Hermione heard McGonagall shut the door to her chambers upstairs and she came walking down her spiral staircase. She eyed the two of them as she approached, her hands in front of her, holding one another. She made it to her desk, and looked between them.

"Not 24 hours since you set foot the property of Hogwarts... and already, my faculty has been attacked by one of you, the other spent her time traipsing on the grounds without even so much as a 'Hello,' with one of my teachers. Explain yourselves," she said, her eyes landing on Hermione. "And _you_ ought to know better, Miss Granger."

"Not me though, eh? No one seems to think I know anything. What a great git Draco Malfoy is, yeah? You can both sod off."

"Malfoy, _really_," Hermione said through her teeth.

"I didn't touch the old bat! She attacked me!"

"And yet," McGonagall cut in, "Sybill is the one who has sustained a heart attack from the shock of being shoved up against the wall. Quite a measure of self-defense for a man of, what, 25? Against an elderly witch without a wand anywhere on her person?"

Draco let out a heavy breath, tapping his foot impatiently. Hermione eyed his actions, and suddenly, she knew. He hadn't done it. No charm, no excuses, no hesitation, and no attempt to breeze over the situation… he hadn't attacked her. She squared her jaw.

"Professor, I was with Neville—Professor Longbottom—when the carriages were bringing the students in. He told me that Hagrid had been in a bad way, lately, and I just wanted to make sure he was all right. It was thoughtless, and I apologize. I should have checked in with you first." She eyed Draco who was staring at the floor as if planning to set it ablaze with his thoughts. "And, for what it's worth… I doubt that Draco is lying about the attack."

Draco's head spun to meet her eyes, but she averted them. She looked ANYWHERE but at him. She couldn't. She didn't want to lead him on, let him know she was starting to buy into the changing act if it ended up all being a game. Her pride was worth more than his satisfaction, even if he _did_ happen to be telling the truth about this incident.

McGonagall seemed to think for a moment before answering. "I've spoken with Professor Longbottom and confirmed your story. You may sit down, Miss Granger." She sat down, fully aware of Draco's gaze still focused totally on her. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and said nothing.

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall addressed him, pulling his attention from Hermione, "what happened?"

"I took the carriages in with the kids from the lake. When I got off, I made for the doors, and then… she came out of nowhere, and remembered me—I mean she remembered me _by name_… I was surprised. She grabbed me, she pulled me aside—and into the bloody WALL, and then she started spouting all this bollocks about a wizard- she didn't say his name. She just started talking about what Granger and I were up to. It barely made any sense."

McGonagall's demeanor had changed, Hermione could see, and she knew once and for all that Draco was telling the truth… she and Minerva both knew what Draco did not, which was that Sybill was a genuine seer, if only for a few brief moments in the span of her entire career.

"Describe the prediction, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said, slowly.

"Prediction? No, she didn't even sound right in the head, her voice was ridiculous- it was a bunch of—"

"I won't ask you again."

He sighed. "She said… she said that 'we' were the key… she said that he wouldn't remember me… but that he would be expecting Granger. At least, I think she meant Granger- old bat didn't mention a _name_ of course. And then she told me to bloody wear silver."

McGonagall, Hermione could see, was hanging on his words. She was focused, and thinking quickly. "What happened next, Mr. Malfoy?"

"She… I don't know, I asked her what she was on about, and she kind of… snapped out of it… like she didn't even remember walking over to me, or _remembering_ me, never mind babbling on like that. She let me go… she grabbed her arm and she fell."

McGonagall sat back in her chair. She took a deep breath and looked to Hermione.

"You know what this means," she said to her. Hermione nodded. McGonagall nodded as well. Draco looked between them, impatient, but asked nothing.

"Mr. Malfoy… you and I are going to sit together and work on this for as long as it takes to get it straight, until you are _certain_ you have given me everything… for you are the only person who has heard this third true prediction of Sybill Trelawney… and it must be recorded for The Ministry of Magic."

"Fine, whatever, 'as long as it takes,' but do I have to be tied up for this? It's really starting to get old." McGonagall snapped and the binds around Draco wound back away from him, coiling around themselves and filling the back of the chair in what looked like an intricate pattern to the naked eye, as if the bonds had never been present. He rubbed his wrists and cursed under his breath.

"You, Miss Granger, may go if you like… I can have Sir Nicholas show you to your room if you prefer."

"That's all right, Professor," she said. "I want to hear this."

* * *

It had been hours. Draco was exhausted, but he pushed through. He was even a little bit proud of himself for not snapping the millionth time McGonagall, his _least_ favorite teacher, asked him about the damned prophecy. He had it right, he was sure. He'd become a master at reading his own mind when he truly wanted to, and right now he wanted nothing more than to truly sleep.

So and and Granger walked side by side with enough space between them to fit a third person behind the ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, who was simply _delighting_ them with talk of what had changed at Hogwarts since they'd last been inside these walls. Even Granger seemed impatient with him, eager to get to bed… and here he thought she didn't have the ability to dismiss any form of new knowledge.

"Well, here we are!" Nick stated as they came to what appeared to be a broom closet. He squinted at the room. Hermione seemed nonplussed.

"Thanks so much, Nick! This'll be perfect." She turned her wand on the knob. "Alohamora," she said, and the door popped open. She stepped inside and Draco relaxed.

"Right, The Room of Requirement," he said, following her inside. "Only been here a few times… usually spying on Potty and Weasel… and you, of course."

The room looked a bit like a mid-scale hotel room, with a large King Size bed in the middle, decent décor, a dresser for each of them, a mirror with a stool for Hermione—he assumed—and even a back area behind an Oriental Changing Curtain for a restroom facility. His eyes fell on the bed, which had obviously arisen just for him. There was nothing in the whole world he wanted to do more than sleep. But why just the one? She must not have been ready to sleep yet, he guessed. No matter. It would appear in time. Everything did in this place.

"Professor McGonagall told me we'd be staying here. Seemed perfect," she said thoughtfully. Something was on her mind, and he could tell. She didn't seem as miserable… if anything, she seemed more at ease, more confident, and…

"You really missed this place," he said. She looked to him.

"Yeah," she said. "Sometimes I wonder what it might have been like… if I'd finished school." She sat down on the edge of the bed, letting her suitcase stand on its own on the floor.

"Me too," he admitted, but he knew it had more weight for her than he'd ever be able to understand. She looked down. He'd made her uncomfortable, now. She looked at the bed and slid back against the pillows. Now he was confused.

"You're not tired yet?" she asked, straightening the pillows to her liking and folding down the blankets.

"I'm ready to drop," he said pointedly, an eyebrow raised at the bed.

She looked from the single bed to his face, and back to the bed. "You're joking," she said, a hint of desperation in her voice. She glared at him.

"Think harder, then," she said. He glowered at her.

"All I'm thinking about is climbing into that bed and having the most deserved night's sleep I've had in months! _You_ need to think harder about—" he stopped. He furrowed his brow. He smirked.

"Granger…"

She groaned.

"Are you… I don't know… baby hungry?"

That had clearly not been what she was expecting him to ask.

"_Excuse me?_"

"You know… babies. They come from ladies, usually after they have one special night with a wizard of their choosing—"

"I'm not trying to seduce you," she said, rolling her eyes, as if the thought was more than even her oversized brain could process. "And I'm not 'baby hungry."

"You sure? Cause, I mean… you were watching those kids come out for the train a little bit starry-eyed—"

"Malfoy. It's been a long day. Please don't test me."

He sighed. "It was just a question, Granger."

"It was pathetic, Malfoy."

She rose, went to her suitcase, picked it up and plopped it on the bed. She unzipped it and started rifling through.

"We'll just have to share it… make the most of it, I reckon," she said. She pulled a sweater out of the bag and a nightgown tumbled out of it. She turned scarlet, tried to hide it before he saw. He was too quick for her, snatched it up and held it in the air for him to view.

It was red, semi-transparent, and had lace roses along the outer seem. Her gulp was audible.

"You're… _not_ trying to seduce me? This is a rather poor job of it, then."

* * *

Hermione was dumbstruck, embarrassed, and caught red-nightied. How the hell had _that_ gotten in there?! She hadn't even bought it, she realized. Ginny had given it to her when she and Ron had begun to fall apart. She'd never even _worn it. _She vaguely remembered it being in her hands while she was packing… getting distracted and… Merlin, she'd folded it and stuck it right in there when Ginny herself had come over. Speak of the damn devil, indeed.

How the bloody hell was she going to get out of this one?

Draco was drinking it up, laughing at her, and she felt small and vulnerable; totally unsexy… not that 'sexy' was an adjective that she felt on a day-to-day basis, but she usually didn't feel like a nonsexual object, either. This was humiliating. She stretched forward and snatched the nightgown from his hands. She tossed it back in the suitcase and stuck her finger in his face.

"_Stop_ talking to me… like I am a bloody _woman," _she said. For a moment, silence passed between them. Then Draco could hold it in no longer. He laughed in her face. He was _laughing_ in her face… she was truly going to disembowel him.

"Hermione… you _are_ a woman, yeah? Did you want me to talk to you like… I don't know… a lamp? A pack of chewing gum? The Bloody Baron?"

"You _know_ what I'm talking about! The _flirting!_ It's revolting… and frankly… it's disrespectful."

She'd surprised him; she could see it in his eyes. He crossed his arms.

"Come again?"

"I'm not _trying_ to be sexy for you, okay? I _wouldn't_! I know I'm not the belle of the ball or a bloody Veela, okay? You don't need to _remind _me with the constant teasing. And for all you know, if I _was_ trying… I might be a little more of… of a catch. But you don't have the priviledge of knowing me in tha way, Malfoy. You are _beneath_ me. I've tried to be civil, and let you have your fun in this to keep you happy, to keep _myself_ sane… I know you never think about it... but I'm still a human being. I have _feelings."_

He made like he was going to speak and she silenced him.

"Enough, Malfoy, I just… just go to bed."

She turned back to the bed and a couch popped into the air from nowhere and landed several feet away. They both eyed it.

"The room requires you to get the Hell away from me," she added, and sniffed, quietly as she could. She hoped he didn't hear it. She'd just had enough. Every word he said about it reminded her that she was aging… and it wasn't happening… and she couldn't let those feelings get in the way of the project she'd worked her whole life to be able to pursue. A man wasn't the goal right now… babies could wait. She wasn't _interested_ in sex, or feeling sexy. She just wanted to do her _job. _

Draco walked toward the couch, away from her, and she could have rejoiced. She climbed into bed, turned off the light, and closed her eyes.

"And Draco? …Don't call me Hermione."

* * *

Draco was lying in bed thinking of Hermione Granger sleeping peacefully in the large king bed, confused, angry, and aroused. She _cared_ about what he thought? She thought he was using sex as a _weapon?_ Granger wore _teddies?! _

He kept rolling over, switching sides, trying desperately to get comfortable… no such luck. She was in him now, like a sickness. She thought he was just messing around? Did men actually _pretend_ to be interested in women? She had called his whole sexuality into question with just one impassioned speech and he wasn't standing for it. Well, he was _standing_ for it in one particular piece of his anatomy, but it made him damned angry.

_She's just insecure_, he realized. _She wasn't trying to be a twat._ But it didn't matter to him what she'd _intended_ to do… and she had no idea how lucky she had it—how difficult it would be for her to get him out of her system if he gave her a taste. He was addicting, and he knew it. He'd had women before. He'd changed them. For a selfish prat, he was an incredible lover… he _too_ desired that pride that only the unabashed climax of a woman could satisfy just right. And just _think_ how less tightly wound she'd be if he _did_ give her a taste, he reckoned. She'd be a new woman, not all this… anxiety.

He rolled over onto his back and damned his erection. He didn't want it to be for her. But at the end of the day… she was only a witch… and he was only a wizard… and they were just bodies… and there was really only one outcome that was going to lead to a sound night's sleep for both of them.

* * *

She heard him before she saw him moving. She could sense his presence near her. Merlin, why wasn't he asleep yet? She needed a break from all of this.

"What is it?" she asked, sleepily.

"You," he said, looking down on her.

"What?" she asked, blinking away the sleep and struggling to sit up. He lay a hand on her chest, pushing her down, gently. He slung a leg over the edge of the bed and climbed ontop of the blanket. One hand wrapped around back of her, behind the pillow and rested on her shoulder. The other snaked its way under the blanket… she felt it on her lower abdomen… she felt it unbuttoning her jeans.

"Are you insane?!" she asked, struggling for just a moment. His lips crashed to hers. She was instantly somewhere else. Rushing blood to her head made her mouth fall open in a moan and he took it as permission and let his tongue trace her upper lip before it delved inside. She shivered. Something so wrong should never be so delicious.

_Wrong_, she remembered. Her hand moved on top of his, now sliding under her jeans and over her panties. She tried to still him, applied pressure to her hand… it pushed his fingers over her swollen clit and she gasped. Oh, there was no stopping it now. Her thighs parted and her hips raised to meet his hand as he quickly withdrew and returned to her sex under her panties, nothing between them but fire.

He was tracing circles around that most intimate, intense part of her womanhood, making her groan and follow his lead in small thrusts. He interrupted the rhythm suddenly with light flicks and she was panting for him. He increased his speed and pressure. She was losing herself. She felt it all slipping away… and when his lips closed over the hollow of her throat and sucked gently, she exploded. She came hard and loudly, her fingers closing over his wrist, nails digging in. She was shaking before it was over… and a cloud of satisfaction and release sat delicately on her chest, encompassing all of her being. Her clit was throbbing, sensitive, but heeded. He withdrew his hand from her sex and she moaned a little. He lowered her hand back at her side, stood from the bed and righted the covers around her.

"Now then," he said, quietly. "Let's not ever mistake my "flirting" for "teasing" again… Hermione… because a tease would never satisfy you like that." He walked toward the couch.

And even though anger should have quickly replaced this feeling of elation that she was feeling… even though she should have feel like a tart for letting him pleasure her like that… she wasn't guilty, she was unashamed, and she closed her eyes and almost immediately, she fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8: Professor Mazuko's Secret

Hermione lay awake for a while before she opened her eyes. She felt so _rested._ It was if she had slept for a deserved 10 hours instead of what she assumed was closer to seven, maybe eight. She was so… relaxed, peaceful… she felt like she was back in her own bed after years of hotel rooms and sleeping bags… and yet, she knew where she was. She was back at Hogwarts… and she shuddered to admit _why_ she was so happy and comfortable. She'd had the most elaborate, dark nightmare… but it must have done the trick, she thought, because she'd never felt so free of tension.

Finally she opened her eyes and threw her feet over the edge of the bed. She glimpsed the back of the couch and yawned, remembering their fight. She supposed she was probably going to have to grit her teeth and apologize for that one… the trick would be pretending her dream wasn't on her mind… and Merlin did she hope he wouldn't detect even a trace of it… because if Draco Malfoy _ever_ knew that Hermione Granger had had a sexy dream about him… and woken up feeling- dare she even THINK it- …_ satisfied…_ she would probably just have to off herself.

She stepped onto the floor and made her way for the little bathroom nook at the back of their suite in The Room of Requirements. She could hear him brushing his teeth and she braced herself. She was hoping he was still asleep… hadn't expected to do this before she even had the pleasure of a shower… thinking about the pleasure of _anything_ sent a shiver up her spine. Was this how it was for other women after dreams like that? She had no idea. It was her first time. She hoped it would end after some tea and breakfast.

When she rounded the corner, she froze. He was standing at the sink, leaning down to rinse his mouth. His hair was still wet, wavy and clean. He had jeans on, no shoes, and an open button down shirt. He hadn't shaved his face, and he smelled like… men, she realized. She saw stars for a moment. She wanted to throw up. He heard her footsteps and turned to face her. As soon as he did, she saw the imperfection… that smirk. It was… so triumphant. The color drained from her face as she suddenly realized a truth that she had not even attempted to know.

"Are we feeling better this morning then, Granger? Or shall we give it another go?"

* * *

Draco had gone to bed last night horribly hard and terribly exhausted, but so buggering satisfied that he scarcely even cared. He'd had her. When she opened her eyes and tried to play it off like it hadn't happened… whenever she took tea with those two little golden-boys… the next time she had a lover that just didn't quite measure up… he'd be there, in her pretty little head, underneath all that hair. He hadn't been this satisfied with himself in years.

When he awoke, still tired, hair matted to his head, he looked over the edge of the couch to see if she'd awakened and snuck away to hide… he was only halfway surprised to see her still in bed, lightly snoring, with the covers drawn up around her, but not quite covering her. Her shirt had risen, exposing her clean, fit abdomen and just a hint of her lower breasts. He had considered climbing into bed with her and tormenting her all over again… but he had pressing matters to get on with, this morning. And for Merlin's sake, he was hoping she was at least going to be less uptight from this moment, going forward.

He took a shower, washed himself and his hair with all the stuff he liked—The Room of Requirement really lived up to its name. He stepped out, toweled off, and grabbed some stuff out of his suitcase to wear. He heard her breathing change when he was just starting to comb his hair, shirt hardly buttoned at the bottom. He smirked… and unbuttoned the bottom two. He let it hang open, and stood to face the mirror. He wasn't a God, he reckoned. He was a little too skinny. His face was a bit too hard. He couldn't tell if he looked better shaven or a bit scruffy… he didn't know what women wanted, visually. But he had a feeling that in his present state, even if Granger had been shagging a male model instead of Ron Weasley previously to this… she wouldn't kick him out of bed.

* * *

He was brushing his teeth when she entered, and he allowed her to drink him in. He could feel her eyes feasting on him like she hadn't eaten in days… before he turned around, he wasn't sure what to expect from her. Was she… accepting? Did she want more? Was she going to try to kill him? Maybe she'd cry rape and storm out of the room, dropping the project completely… and then he'd really be kind of screwed.

All he could do was turn to face the bear he'd poked—quite a figure of speech—and hope that he wasn't about to get murdered on his old hunting grounds.

And just when he thought he had her, saw the blush, the color creeping into her lips, just when he thought he was really living the dream, here… she turned form him… ran to the toilet… and vomited.

* * *

For a moment, Hermione's head swam. It had been real. _Real? _She'd let Draco Malfoy… oh, she couldn't think of it. She was going to throw up, again. She was shaking. She stood up, holding her arms by her sides. What was she going to do? She couldn't seem to string one moment into the next, they were all broken segments in time, and this feeling in her stomach was never going to end and—

_Snap out of it, _she told herself. She closed her eyes. _What had really occurred, _she asked herself: A man she despised had climbed into her bed in the dead of night… he had sensed that she was overly stressed out, and she had challenged his _manhood_ in asking him not to pretend to flirt with her anymore… she'd shown him weakness. And in committing what he had assumed was a power play upon that weakness… he had caused her to reach orgasm. She felt violated. She felt dirty. What was worse… she felt annoyed. She wasn't drunk, or drugged. There was no spell she was under. Why the Hell hadn't she stopped him?! And deep down, she knew why not… because it had been YEARS since she'd bothered to take up with a man, and even though it was attached to the worst POSSIBLE human being on the planet, he did still have a penis… and he consistently did something that no other person had _ever_ been able to really do. He made her _feel. _

…Even if that feeling was typically nothing but malice.

He'd done what Draco Malfoy _always_ did, she reminded herself. He'd taken advantage of a situation in the hopes of attaining a goal: for her to submit to him. He hadn't hurt her. On the contrary, she'd as good as _let_ him put his hands on her. She distinctly remembered thinking, "Oh, bugger it," when he started to work that physical magic. And truly, she'd never reached climax so fast in all of her life. Despite his reasons for doing so, her body certainly hadn't rejected his touch. _Must have been the adrenaline,_ she told herself, wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand. That had to have been it, because she was _not _about to admit to herself that Draco Malfoy knew how to play her body like a violin. That was not going to happen.

He thought, she realized… that he was _teaching her a lesson_. He wanted her to feel as though he had won. Well two could play that game. He'd love if it she fought him, hexed him blind, argued herself blue in the face… he'd expect her to cry, or to stumble away and simply _beg_ him not to tell anyone, and part of her thought, well damned if he doesn't look like he's halfway hoping I'll ask him to finish the job he started. She was tired of vomiting. She wouldn't go there. He'd served his purpose, and he was disgusting for it. She would give him no further satisfaction, she'd see to that, because she knew the one thing that Draco Malfoy really feared, underneath it all. She knew how to r_eally_ get under his skin.

She walked to the edge of the shower, opened the glass door, and climbed inside. She shut the door calmly, took her clothes off from the day before and threw them over, onto the floor. She pictured his face… calculating her movements… trying to assess her mood. She began to lather up in the shower.

"Nothing to say to me, Granger? Not even, "Thank you"?" She poured shampoo into her hands and began to wash her hair. She heard him shift weight on his feet; heard the faucet click off in the sink.

"Feeling ashamed then, are we?"

She was rinsing her hair, gathering conditioner with the other hand. She felt her curls soaking it up. Merlin, she really ought to spend more time on her hair. The tendrils felt so abused, so jaded. She was surprised they even knew what to do with the conditioner.

"Granger?"

She shut the water off, squeezing it out of her hair as she did. She reached out of the shower, snaked a towel into her hand and wrapped it around herself, brushing droplets off her cheeks. She opened the door, stepped out into the bathroom, and folded the rim of the towel down so it would stay put around her chest as she moved about the room. She past him, still leaning against the sink, with a very different look on his face. There was a hint of lonely puppy in there somewhere. She moved to her suitcase and removed a new set of clothes. She stepped behind the changing curtain.

She hustled a bra onto her breasts, dipped low, fastened it, and stood upright. She pulled a tank top over herself, then stepped into panties and hoisted up a pair of brown suit pants. She donned an orange blouse and a brown jacket, and scooped her hair up over the collar to rest over the coat. She used her towel to squeeze more of the abundant water out of it as she walked back into the light.

He was puzzled, watching her, she saw.

"Well bloody say _something_ then, Granger! It's not as if nothing at all has happened."

She patted her face completely dry and looked into the mirror. Acceptable, she deemed herself. She reached into her bag and began to pull out the notes she wanted to have with her today when she started her research. At last, she turned to face him. She could tell his anxiety had mounted. He was facing her, fidgeting, and looking abashed.

"Nothing _has_ happened, Draco Malfoy. Nothing I shouldn't have foreseen. I can't trust you. I shouldn't have tried. It was foolish of me to think you had changed. I won't make that mistake again. All I can do until you decide to treat this case with the respect of an adult is what you've forced me to do, though I almost feel sorry for you doing it, as I know it's really the only thing that you're insecure about." She paused for a moment as she watched him blinking at her in confusion, and denial. And then without another word, she calmly turned and left.

* * *

What had just happened? Draco was confused. _This_ was her plan? To… pretend he wasn't here? How did she expect to keep that up with them working on the same bloody project? He scooped his shirt back on, irritated, and buttoned it up quickly. He forced a hand through his hair and looked around the cluttered room, suddenly aware of just how empty it was. How could it not have meant _anything_ to her? It had _always_ meant something to them in the past. He knew she wasn't like the others. She had NEVER forgotten about Draco Malfoy. And he wasn't about to let her. He couldn't. And then, he realized... she was right on. This _was_the only thing that really ever got to him... and how the mud blooded golden girl had guessed it before he'd ever had an inkling, he didn't know. But he was damned sure going to have to do something about it, or suffer. And Draco Malfoy never suffered.

"Bollocks."

* * *

Hermione strode quickly down the hall. She had to get away from him. His smell was in her nose and his taste was somehow still in her mouth. Or was that the vomit? Could have been the vomit, she realized. That would have been a fair assessment.

After everything that she and Neville had discussed, and after the prophecy that Draco had overheard from Professor Trelawney, Hermione didn't know what to think about this situation, anymore. Together, were they some sort of a _key_? And if so, what did the two of them open? Everything in her past told her that locked doors very rarely disclosed something she wanted to see, and she'd never been the one to 'save the day,' before, all alone. It frightened her, even more perhaps than working with him to do it. Harry had the destiny, and Ron had the support system, the inner strength and passion. Hermione had the cleverness, the quick ability to think on her feet... but the three of them together had been the triumph the Wizarding World needed. By herself? Just cleverness alone? How far could that take her? And what did Draco Malfoy bring to the table? _Terrific orgasms,_ she thought.

_Oh, please. Are we a Gryffindor or aren't we?_ She felt herself sternly asking as she moved down the hall toward her destination. She hoped being back in the company of one of her former friends would bring her back to her senses, and back to the task at hand… she desperately wanted to stop replaying the scenes from last night in her head. She didn't even want to _think _of what her friends would think of her. Ron would probably never speak to her again. And Harry… he might not let her around Lily—or the new baby. She felt sick.

"Hey, Hermione!" She hardly realized she had gone all the way to the Herbology Green House until she heard Neville address her. The long walk had not done her good. She felt just as shaky and unreliable as she had when she'd left the room. She sighed.

"Morning, Neville," she said, trying her best to mask the night's activities. "When's your first class?"

"You're in luck," he said, potting something that looked rather spindley and dangerous. It's branches reached out as if to claw Neville's heavily gloved hands. "You missed breakfast, and the first classes,"

"Merlin's beard," she said, shaking her head, her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "I really have changed." He chuckled.

"Not so much as you think," he said. There was silence between them for a moment. His eyes lifted to her and she kept hers firmly on the worktable between them, cheeks starting to color. He shrugged the moment off once it was lost.

"Anyway… second period for me is open block. I spent this time taking care of the plants for the rest of the day. First period is first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws—they're an easy bunch, of course. It's odd, ya know… being head of a house that used to have nothing at all to do with Herbology."

"…What?" Hermione asked, suddenly confused.

"Well, yeah. When Sprout retired four years ago, and they called me here, at first you know, McGonagall had been trying to do it all, but… you know it's a big job, Head of House, Professor, and Head Mistress, and Dumbledore _wanted_ her to be in charge, so…"

"So… you're head of… _Gryffindor_ house?" Hermione asked.

"Well, yeah!" he said, smiling. She beamed at him.

"That's great, Neville. I'm so proud of you." He blushed.

"Nah, it's nothing. It's been so long since I've seen you, I forgot you didn't know, is all."

"Sorry about that," she said, looking away again. Why did all her interactions with school friends revolve around her feeling guilty? _And even school enemies, now_, she reminded herself.

"What? No! Hermione, you can't be sorry about that… Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Ginny… I mean, we all have an idea that the other is fine, but… you know. None of us really _talk._ It's not your fault. We grew up."

He said it so matter of factly. She'd been worried all this time that she'd moved on without everyone… had everyone else moved on without her? She didn't want to think about it. She'd gone from disgusted, to annoyed, to embarrassed, to pathetic all in just the hour since she'd awakened. Already she needed another perfect night's sleep. _One way to get that-_

"Who are the other House Heads?" she asked in a voice that was barely her own—high pitched and too fast. He noticed, looked up, studied her for a second, but didn't push it.

"Well, McGonagall's niece is the new head of Gryffindor. That's when she brought her in, when she left that position—but she's still teaching Transfiguration, of course. Don't think she could ever let that one go. Flitwick is still head of Ravenclaw—doesn't seem to age, that one… and the last five or six years or so, they've had Professor Mazuko in charge of Slytherin."

She blinked at him. "Professor Mazuko? I know the name… was he a potions master, previously?"

"Hmm? Dunno. I know he's old blood. Pretty sure he's related to your boyfriend," he chuckled.

"My _WHAT?_" He froze.

"I… it… it was a joke, Hermione. Sorry."

"Nevermind. Dealing with Draco is just… he's on my last nerve. Carry on."

"Right. Well, I think he's old blood, but I dunno. Keeps to himself, mostly. Name's Lorenzo."

And then she remembered… the too-neat note taker who had sat in on her debriefing with The Department… the man who had been _working_ with Draco Malfoy, the man funding her project. They knew each other on a deeper level? Well of course they must if they were related. Those eyes, she remembered, had been icy. Not penetrating the way Draco's were, the way they could tell exactly what she was thinking, though she could only _guess_ at what he was up to. This man, she could tell, had seen death, at his own hands. She felt as though he was a person she owed a visit to before she left Hogwarts. But not today… because Draco was most definitely going to be on his way to see the man first, and Hermione wanted not at all to run into him, today. A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she stopped. _Or,_ she thought,_ maybe I do…._

* * *

Draco walked the halls near the Slytherin Common Room as if he had never left. He knew each and every crevice of every wall. He had hidden notes in several bricks, kissed girls next to certain trick stairs, and the monotonous dripping of a pipe outside the Potions Class Room was so calming that it almost made the anxiety of the morning fade away. _I'll never fix the plumbing again_, he vowed.

With one hand, he pushed his way into the office of the wizard he had been seeking. Lorenzo Mazuko stood over a cauldron, dropping hairs into a bowl. He didn't look up when Draco entered, but he knew it was him. He always knew. He had to.

"Glad to see you made it in one piece," he said suddenly, stirring the cauldron with his wand and raising some neatly sliced pieces of what appeared to be eyeballs over the ladle. "The brunette. She could deal some serious damage. The magic comes off that one in droves."

"Yeah, bugger off about it, will you?"

Lorenzo looked to him for just a moment, then he was back to his potion making.

"Why are you in my office, Draco?"

"You know… pressing you for details, I suppose." Draco was walking about the office taking peaks at all the knicks and knacks, which had once belonged to Professors Snape and Slughorn. He figured if you died on the job, perhaps they didn't get rid of all your belongings… and Slughorn, well… the old coot had so much to give, he'd probably left the things that didn't have special significance behind when he'd retired. Draco realized, not sadly, but not happily either, that he barely knew this room as it had been when he'd been lulled into a false sense of security by Severus Snape… when he'd lied to his whole family, tried to force Draco to kill Albus Dumbledore… of course, knowing the truth of the situation now made him feel like a fool. He'd been a child. How could they have put him in that position, knowing what he'd choose to do?

_How could they have put Hermione Granger in any of the positions that she was put in? They knew how she'd respond. We were all pawns. And you have always been a Slytherin. _

He sighed.

"Details, Draco? I have no details. That's what the girl is for."

"Come of it, Enzo. No one knew Rory better than you did. Hell, no one knew he _existed_ better than you did. Don't shut me out, mate. Let's talk." Lorenzo could taste the sarcasm, but he didn't react. He simply looked to the door. He closed it with a blink. And then his hand was around Draco's throat.

* * *

Hermione had just come to the door when it slammed in her face. She swore under her breath, her heart pounding. She heard a scuffle behind the door. She leaned against it with the full weight of her body, her ear against the thick wood. She looked down to the one inch crack above the floor and rolled her eyes.

"Really?" she asked under her breath. She got down on all fours and looked inside the crack.

She could see the two of them scrambling. She could hear Draco's gasps. Her eyes widened.

"How dare you?" she heard Mazuko ask in a hushed voice. "You come into my place of work and you start babbling nonsense. You've all the financial resources in the world to have your questions answered. You know _everything_ that I know about my brother. I put you in one coma. I can do it again."

His grip around Draco's throat seemed to be tightening. And for reasons that Hermione Granger could not explain, she suddenly found herself upright, her wand tip against the door frame, and bellowing, "ALOHAMORA!"

* * *

The door burst open. Draco and Lorenzo looked to it and in strode a brassed off Hermione Granger, wand in hand. "Separate," she said firmly, but Lorenzo's hand was already curling off of Draco's throat. He choked air into his lungs.

"Apologies, miss, that you had to see that. I've no quarrel with you."

"That doesn't mean you and I are without one," she answered, her wand pointed squarely at his chest.

"Hermione—" Draco began. She held up her hand.

"Be quiet, Draco. Too long I've been kept in the dark over what's really going on, here. You want to find your uncle. Fine. Tell me why? Who was he? What happened to him? From everything we've discovered, you're about to put me into mortal danger, and I deserve to know. I'm not risking my life for a deceitful Slytherin who can't keep his hands to himself. And you," she began, turning on Lorenzo. "Who _are _you?"

"My name is Lorenzo Mazuko. My brother was Rorofulus Mazuko. And we have been removed from the family of wizards once known as "Pureblood,".

"Why?" she asked.

"Because," he answered, "My brother dared to question the legitimacy of the claims of those known as, "Pureblood." And I killed the man who tried to obliviate him from my memory."


	9. Chapter 9: The Diary of Rorofulus Mazuko

Hermione wasn't sure what to think of Lorenzo Mazuko. She felt as though he had been too blunt to have told her the truth… but why would someone lie about having murdered someone? She couldn't believe that Hogwarts might have missed it in their screening process to make him one of their professors. It made her palms itchy.

But then again, how they'd managed to restore the most magical room in the school after Vincent Crabbe had sent it bursting into flames with fire spirits was also beyond her. Or perhaps it had simply required that itself be reset. Fickle magic such as that was harder to understand. Hogwarts itself should have been a constant, though. Maybe things really had changed.

"Protego Totalum," she said, wand pointed at the door, and a strong, feathered, yellow shield of sheer light appeared over it. No one would be entering, now.

"I will have classes, Miss Granger."

"Not unless you decide to elaborate in a way I find acceptable, Mr. Mazuko."

Lorenzo was staring at her, but not sizing her up. She could tell he respected her- but she couldn't imagine why if he was truly related to Draco Malfoy or any of his family members. She thought then of Sirius Black and her face colored. When had she ever been so quick to judge?

"Best just to talk to us, Enzo," she heard Draco say. Lorenzo's eyes never left Hermione.

"Us?" she asked. She looked to Draco. "_You_ don't know what he's talking about?"

Draco pursed his lips. He wasn't saying what he meant. Hermione's eyes narrowed. She had had enough. She was through playing nice.

"Legilimens!"

* * *

Draco woke up, hard, on the floor of his bedroom. He winced, rubbing the back of his head. Had he fallen out of bed? No… he sat up, wracking his brain. He was naked. He was wet. His bed wasn't in here, anymore. The room was… empty. He rose to his feet. The door was just beyond his reach. He took a step forward. The door did as well. Another. He couldn't get closer to it. It stood just beyond his reach, no matter how he moved toward it. The room was a box, windowless walls on all sides, and he suddenly remembered where he was. And he was furious.

* * *

Screaming, clutching his head, Draco Malfoy forced Hermione Granger out of his head. She felt herself pulled back as if by an entire village of men. She stumbled backward back into herself and took a deep breath, staring at him with wide eyes.

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!" he bellowed at her. Lorenzo hadn't moved. He stood there, unsurprised, watching them.

"BECAUSE YOU WON'T TELL ME THE TRUTH!"

"Now, now…" he said, catching both of their attention. He turned to Hermione. "The spell will never work on him. I trained his mind against it over a year ago. I had to, to perform The Test of Ages on him." He looked to Draco. "She does it to you because you've left her no other choice. You fail in all the same ways your father fails. That is what will always make you weak. Now. Can we please stop screaming? People are going to talk."

Hermione gathered herself together. She couldn't help herself from thinking, _Damn, the man is definitely a Slytherin._ He was concerned about the way he _looked_ right now? He'd just confessed to murder without batting an eye, and he cared about what the students might overhear from her and Draco's mouths. Despite trying not to be judgmental, she felt herself really pegging him.

He was back on Hermione now, though she could see that Draco was still fuming, try as he might to hide it. "What is it that you want to know?"

She thought carefully. "I need to know what happened to Rory… and I need to know why _he _needs to know what happened to Rory, badly enough to be tangled up with me in all this."

"Ah," Lorenzo said. For the first time, she saw him smile. "None of us knows exactly what happened to Rory... and he needs to know… because it's almost definitely going to happen to him as well."

* * *

Draco had never been more angry. He was about to start slinging spells, and if he destroyed the one girl who could bring him to his uncle, and his answers, he was going to jinx _himself._

"This is bloody ridiculous," he said, "You don't know me, or _her_ and you don't know what I want." He was moving toward the door. He raised his hand toward the knob and it bounced back. Hermione's gaze shot to him.

"My spell, Malfoy. You're not going anywhere."

"Well, I'm not staying here with you lot."

"How can we resolve this? I have students in 20 minutes," Rory said. "I want you both to succeed. I don't believe you will, but I don't believe I can stop either of you. I too want to know where my brother has been these last 23 years."

"Has _no one_ seen him for 23 years?" Hermione asked. Lorenzo left them. He walked, tracing objects with gloved fingers as he went. He disappeared into the more private part of his office. Draco sighed. This wasn't any of her business. Rory hadn't found the answers, so he was none of her concern. He couldn't tell her what she wanted to know, only the path he had taken could. She was doing just _fine_ being kept in the dark. Her buggering curiosity was determined to make her miserable.

"No direct accounts," Draco cut in. "You know, same sort who claim to see _Merlin_ on their scouring pans. Rubbish."

"Perhaps it would help," Lorenzo said, reappearing with an old, decaying book in his hands, "if I let you take a peek into _why_ he went missing… the reason young Draco is likely to go missing as well."

Hermione brightened. She took a step toward Lorenzo, reached for the book.

"Accio Journal!" she heard from behind her and the book flew into Draco's hands.

"Over my dead body," he said.

Her jaw snapped open.

"I'll fight you for it."

"You can't be—"

"I have NEVER been more serious, Malfoy."

"Don't make me hurt you, Granger—"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

He dodged. The spell hit a particularly dusty throw pillow on the couch against the far wall, and it burst, all the little feathers it held sent floating into the air.

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" he shouted. She grabbed a mirror hurriedly from the counter and it connected, bounced back, and he dove away from it. The spell caught a feather and it turned stony, dropping to the floor as if rock hard.

"LUMOS SOLEM!"

"AGUAMENTE!"

The intense sunlight was extinguished by a fire hose sized stream of water coming from the tip of Draco's wand. They were both knocked over from the blast. Hermione rolled over and kicked to her feet. Draco shot up, breathing hard. They were inches from one another, their breathing raspy.

He looked her over… hair wild… shirt undone at the top… two long legs sheathed in pants that seemed to go on for days until they fell into her shoes… wand pointing him squarely in the chest… she could deal him a serious blow right now. She already had. His ego was throbbing. All of him was. When had the girl-next-door-to-Hell gotten so peculiarly sexy? He felt his skin itching to reach out for her, pull her to him. Wouldn't that have been delicious?

"Out of breath? Reminders of last night, already," he whispered to her. She jabbed her wand forward. He felt it in his sternum. He winced momentary, but it folded into a smirk. "Harder, Granger. I can take it." She scowled. "Your move," he reminded her. "If you can manage to truly _hurt_ me."

Their breathing filled the air for a moment, and his chest bone was beginning to hurt. But he felt the tension easing out of her arm. She was going to lower her wand. It disconnected with his shirt, and began to fall to her side. He took a deep breath, chuckled… began to say something sarcastic… and her fist collided with his jaw.

* * *

You'd reckon that she'd been working on her left hook for _years_ the way she hit him. It was _delicious_. More satisfying than a good book, a great night's sleep, and perhaps even his orgasm had been for her.

Okay, maybe not the orgasm.

She snatched the journal from his hand. He was still seeing stars, she guessed, but he swatted for the journal blindly anyway.

"Waddiwasi," she said to the journal, and the shield charm on the door fell away. It opened and the book whizzed out. Draco stared after it, like his mother had just left him with a very unsatisfying babysitter. His jaw was already starting to turn red, a purple crease on the bone. He looked at her, hard.

"Doesn't matter what you read in there, Granger. It doesn't change anything."

She could hear something in his voice… defiance. He wasn't angry, she realized. Not really. That was a mask. There was something in there Draco Malfoy didn't want her to see, for certain, but whatever it was, she felt, it wasn't diabolical. If it had been, he would have liked her to see it. He wanted her to be afraid.

"It will determine whether or not I'm willing to go any further with you, Draco Malfoy."

"I trust it's in safe hands now that it's with you, Miss Granger. I trust that… you'll let no harm come to it." She'd almost forgotten about Lorenzo. She turned to face him.

"Of course," she said.

"Right. Then I need both of you to leave, now."

But even as he was speaking, she could hear Draco Malfoy running out the door… and she couldn't imagine, given everything she'd ever seen him do, what could be so horrible, embarrassing, or shocking that he wasn't about to let her see.

* * *

He wasn't going to let her get to it. She had to have sent it back to the room, she didn't have anywhere else that would be 'secured' from people. Bugger Enzo for being such rubbish of a family member. Did he not realize that he was about to sabotage everything? If Granger knew how deep it had gotten… how far away her the truth was lying...

He came to the room, flew through the door, slammed it shut, and began to search.

* * *

Hermione walked through the halls slowly. She knew that Draco was probably already back in the room searching, and she didn't care. He wasn't going to find it… because she hadn't sent the bloody book to her room.

She left through the large double doors and basked in the lovely sunlight that dappled the hillside of snow in color. She hugged herself and began walking through the grounds.

She passed students hurrying to class in all colors of the houses. Some of them saw her, seemed to whisper, asking who she was. She wash't sure if McGonagall had told the students anything of her and Draco arriving. Probably would not have wanted to disturb classes, she reckoned. She could think of one class that was likely to not be in session today, and she didn't blame him. She only hoped that Hagrid was feeling better.

It wasn't long before she came upon his cottage. It gave her hope to see smoke pouring from the chimney. Either Neville had gone down to see him and set him up with something to eat, or he was feeling better, and was up and walking around.

She came to his door and knocked twice. She opened the door and stepped inside. The soft meowing brought a smile to her face. Hagrid was sitting up in bed with a bowl of soup in his lap, magical half-plant kittens from head to toe. He looked up when she entered.

"Hermione! Wadn't a dream, then!" he made to stand and she held up her hands.

"No, no! Don't waste your strength, Hagrid, I'll come to you!" She went to him and gave him a lingering hug. She could feel him chuckling against her.

"Been such a long time," he said. She could tell he had tears in his eyes. She loved how sensitive he had always been—far more sensitive than ever SHE had been, than even she was now.

"I know," she started. "I'm sorry, Hagrid. It's all my fault. I wanted to write, I just—"

"Nonsense. Ya been busy! Y'all have. I get it, I do. What yer been up to, Hermione? Why ya here? Don't tell me yer needed a book ya forgot." He winked at her. She smiled. He was almost right on the dot.

"I'm doing research, Hagrid. A personal project of mine. Trying to find out… where it all comes from. The magic."

"Ah," he said. He nodded at her, slurping some more soup into his giant mouth. "We all knew yer were gonna be something, Hermione. You'll do us right proud, ya will."

"Thanks," she said. He yawned behind his soup. She took it from him.

"You need to rest," she said.

"Nonsense, I want ter visit with ya!"

"I'll be here for the week, Hagrid. We'll have plenty of time to catch up and I need you at full strength for some of the things we'll discuss."

"Right," he said, yawning again. He slid down in the bed and she placed the bowl on the table. The bowl, she noticed, was large enough to fit neatly over her head without even touching her hair. The kittens adjusted around Hagrid to continue to lick his wounds. Almost immediately, he was snoring. She sat back away from him, and looked toward his fireplace, where the kettle burned over the fire. She stood up and walked to it. She stared into the fire for a moment before turning to where Hagrid's old dog, Fang, had slept on a pile of blankets. The pile remained, she noticed, though she was sure the dog must have died years back. Hagrid had probably been too heartbroken to remove it. She had bet on that fact.

She reached under the pile of blankets and came out with the tattered old journal. She seated herself on the pile of blankets which no longer smelled even faintly of dog, and faced the fire to warm her as she read.

When she opened the book she saw that there were no dates on the entries, no numbers at all… she realized quickly that this had been a very personal diary.

_The Dark Lord has fallen. How could it be so? I don't understand why our plight has failed… we only desire to rid the Wizarding World of the mudblood scum who claim to share in our powers… but there has to be a difference. No one can come from muggle birth and simply HAVE our power, any more than I could sprout wings and fly at the age of seventeen unless I hailed from a bird, somewhere. I have to know. How did a toothless little baby destroy the one chance this world had at being pure? At destroying the imposters?_

Hermione rolled her eyes. A typical view of the First threat from Voldemort, after he had fallen. So this was the brother of Lorenzo, then? The one hat Draco was looking for? But Draco's notes, that leather-bound file _had_ indicated- in the research that Draco claimed had been done by Rory himself- that Rory had changed his mind... gone back and forth... She turned the page and read on...

_I've taken two more. Under penalty of the Cruciatus Curse, they would not tell me of their magical roots. I administered the Truth Serum… they simply do not KNOW how they became wizards, or if there was anything of pure magical decent somewhere back in their family lineage. I had already studied them, of course… and in both cases I found that there was not. But there HAS to be a reason. It's been six months since The Dark Lord fell. All the mudbloods I've taken, researched, and set free… it all points to nothing. Nothing! But they are not imposters, I can tell. Under my spell, I can SEE the magical energy in them. It is the same as a Wizard. Could The Dark Lord—darest I even write it—have been wrong? The family knows what I have done. Even my dear brother, Lucius, refuses to speak to me. He will not tell me how my nephew is doing—and he is the only heir to our name. This feud has split me from the ones I love, not knowing any longer if the persecution of muggle-borns is something that we should be putting weight on. I have to have answers if I'm going to continue down this road._

Hermione felt a knot in her chest. He had _taken_ muggle-borns and done experiments on them? Part of her was livid. The fact that he even thought that he needed to do that was repulsive. It was black vs. white- it was men vs women. The power struggle of humanity would go on and on forever. Us vs Them would never stop. But to actually think them _impostors..._ the ignorance of Wizards was astounding to her. And though it was not the time to think of it, though she wanted her thoughts to be anywhere else, she couldn't help but wonder, after everything Lorenzo had said to her, if Draco was truly following in Rory's footsteps... what else had the hands of the man that had pleasured her last night done?

* * *

The room was torn to bits. He'd stood in the center of it shouting for the book to come to him for too long- and judging by the fact that Granger hadn't followed him back up here, the book had been sent somewhere else. She was probably already reading it, he thought. He might as well pack up and go home.

He sat down on the bed. He'd read that book cover to cover when Lorenzo had given it to him during his research, more than once. There was nothing inside of it than he hadn't already had, other than a true peek into the mind of a lunatic. His uncle had become something of a pariah to the family after he'd started his "experiments," but for the wrong reasons. If he'd simply wanted to torture a muggle-born, that would have been fine with them as long as it never lead the Aurors to anyone but him. But the fact that he was experimenting to _test_ the "theories" of The Dark Lord was totally unacceptable for them. It had been fact, not opinion, back then, and Draco had been brought up in all of that. He still wasn't sure exactly how he felt. He certainly knew that they were Wizards, there was no question of that. But _equal_ to Purebloods? It didn't quite make sense, did it? One being of pure power passed down by blood... versus a being that simply woke up one day with magical inclinations? One of them had to be stronger, he thought. But... did they? Hermione Granger was stronger than him, and he knew it. But was it a fluke?

There was no point speculating, he thought. This was why he was here- or at least it HAD been before his uncle had given her that blasted diary like a nutter. Now he was likely going to have to finish the job himself... and he knew in his heart that if he did, he was going to fail.

He stood from the mess, wand in hand. "Scourgify," he said lazily. The room straightened itself out. He smirked. Stronger she may be, but there were a couple of spells he had her beat on. At least he could leave with his dignity.

* * *

Hours had passed and Hermione was deeply into the diary. She couldn't put it down. She'd witnessed the slow progression from raving ignorant bastard into a man who could think for himself. She could respect that, on some level. If the wrong way was all you'd ever known, all you could do as a person would be to _try_ the other way. She continued:

_I've set my sights to History. History, it's been shown, can tell us many things about the present. I've researched the families- even back to The Dark Lord himself. Much of the magic in the world can be traced to even Ancient Times just by the literature I've found. Muggleborns, it seems may be something else entirely. I've found a race of people in Egypt before modern society, in which the first "Priests" were born into them. They were said to be "different than the race of Gods, but the same," just as they were the same as their fellow muggles. This culture, as well as many others, seems to have realized this new "race" at the same time. There was a race capable of magic in all Ancient Cultures… and then born into themselves was a race of those ALSO capable of Magic, once they reached a certain age… since this was recorded by Muggles, I can only assume that once we as Wizards decided that they could no longer be trusted to know of us, that is when we stopped allowing our deeds to be recorded. Lorenzo is convinced that I must be tested before I go to Egypt. He says that the wizards that live there still are different than us. I trust him, as a member of The Way of Old, he knows all of the ancient pureblood secrets. So he's right. I must be tested before I present myself to the Egyptian Wizard Cult. But if all that I have found is true, and this IS where the first race of Muggleborns originated, then maybe I can finally get my answers on the roots of magic, and who is right in this dreadful feud. I feel not only as though I may have been tricked, but that I may have been used as a pawn in a mission that had consequences I could never have guessed, before. I hope it not to be true. If The Dark Lord truly used us all for his own gain, and not to destroy a necessary evil, I… I don't want to think of it._

_..._

_The tests were harder than I could have imagined. I've been trapped inside my own head, it seems, for months, going over every instance in my life where I was wrong… at fault. Being back in my own skin and out in the world feels strange, now. But Rory says I have passed, and… I'm on my way. I fly out tonight with my cloak and broomstick. I pray that it's still long enough to cover me on the broom as it was when I was a teenager. It's been so long._

_..._

_Egypt has not been a pleasure. I wish I could say it has. Bound for days, left without food or water… to make sure I could be trusted, the Ancient Ones performed the most ghastly of curses on me to make sure I was really here for what I said. And even after the torture was over, they awarded me no answers to the deepest questions in my soul. When I asked about the race of muggle born Priests capable of magic, they were straightforward with me. I had been right about that. But I had been wrong about them being the first. It simply coincided with the development of intelligence among muggles across the world… and a written language in pictures for them to depict it. These men had no idea, was it the same magic as us, or was it weaker? The muggles perceived them as weaker… but often, they said, the Purebloods would choose a member of the Muggle-born population to be their leader—their voice—to the muggles. They couldn't tell me about whether or not The Dark Lord had been a fraud, only that if I truly wished to know, I must go to Iraq, but there, they knew, is where it all fell apart. They told me of "The Five Kings" who blew the wind on the mountain top in days so long ago, I can scarely picture them. These men, as far as they knew, are the oldest living Wizards. They are… immortal. Such a thing is desired, but seen as dangerous- an abuse of power- by us, today. I don't know if I can trust these "Kings." But I have to try. So I go now to Iraq in the hopes of finding them. I only hope it will not be too much longer._

The last entry, Hermione saw was speckled with brown droplets. It was crinkled, rubbed in dirt, and torn in the bottom right corner.

_It was a mistake to come here. The Dark Lord was wrong. And I shall never get to tell my beloved family that they have been deceived. _

And that's when Hermione figured it out. It wasn't that Draco Malfoy was embarrassed, or horrified by this journal. He had read it all and he was willing to do exactly what Rory had done, despite the warning—despite the fact that the man was probably _dead_. The Slytherin _fool_ who should have wanted to preserve himself more than ANYTHING was willing to run head-first into danger to answer the _same _questions that his uncle had had before him… the same questions that Hermione Granger had had her entire life. And he thought that she would be UNWILLING to continue if she could see the real risk… he'd even known about Iraq, she realized, before the voices of the Kings had found them in her flat. He knew that there was a great chance that the two of them were about to run quickly toward their own demise and he was going to leave her in the dark about it.


	10. Chapter 10: Childhood Fantasies

Hermione woke up, stretched out comfortably in her bed. Her eyes found the area where Draco's couch had been… it was gone, still. Three days had passed since he'd shared the room with her. She was a little concerned about where he may have gone, and what he might have been up to, but she didn't mind having her own space again, or not having his taxing voice echoing in her head.

She rose and began to ready for the day's tasks. She'd spent hours in the library the last two days, and finished them out with dinner in Hagrid's cabin as he slowly but surely was making a full recovery. She'd crested the middle of her stay this week at Hogwarts, and she felt that she was only a little closer to deciphering the message they had overheard in her flat. She hated to admit it, but she wished he hadn't abandoned all the research. He had just as much background knowledge as she did—if not more—and it would have been nice to have had a second pair of eyes on the task. A knock stirred her out of her thoughts and she clutched a robe which suddenly appeared on her bed knob. She smiled, slipping into it.

"Is that you, Malfoy?" she called.

"Nah, it's me: Neville," he replied. She sighed. Why was she so disappointed?

"Come in," she said, flipping her hair out of the robe and tying the belt securely around her waist. He entered and momentarily drank in her appearance before hotly looking away. His ears turned bright red—like Ronald. It made her giggle, though she kept it hidden well.

"Sorry, Neville, I didn't—"

"No, no it's fine. You… were expecting Malfoy? Like… _that_?" She was at a loss. How to explain the eccentricities of her feelings toward Malfoy? _Well you see, Neville, Malfoy and I rather like to argue each other blue in the face and then have a good shag to really get it out of our systems. So what's for breakfast?_

To her immense relief, when she fumbled for an answer in her big, suddenly empty brain, he changed the subject.

"On Thursdays the Herbology Classroom is vacant. It's my day to catch up with the plants, make sure they're healthy, but... I'm ahead of schedule. I thought maybe I'd spend the day, you know, trying to help you out. Reckoned Malfoy would be slacking, so…"

"You figured right," she answered, and turned for the changing area. "That's _so_ sweet of you, Neville, really. Mind waiting for me while I get dressed? I won't be long."

He made to sit down on her bed, and rump inches from the sheets, he rose, turned and looked at it, and then made for the couch. She smiled, a little embarrassed, and a little disappointed in herself. Here was a gentleman in her presence. He wanted to take care of her… but she didn't want to let him. She very much wanted his help knowing that Draco was not going to be joining her, today… but would she trade Neville for him if he turned up to dig into a book alongside her? Maybe. At least she could admit that to herself… _maybe._

Her suitcase was already behind the oriental changing curtain and she quickly set herself into casual robes and shoes, with a sweater: her old Gryffindor colors. It was a good omen for the day, she reckoned. It'd bring back good memories and thoughts.

She came back into the light and he rose, stopped shaking his leg. He was anxious, she saw. But why? They'd done research together before.

"Something up, Neville?" she asked. He shrugged—too quickly, she caught.

"Not at all, 'Mione. Let's go."

What she didn't realize was that for the last fourteen years, Neville Longbottom had been this anxious in her company... and it was only due to her sudden, blatant curiosity about the opposite sex that she had even noticed.

* * *

Draco was enjoying this little game. She was relentless, vivacious, and wickedly smart—qualities he was beginning to admire in spite of himself… but he was about to have her… she'd never be able to recover from this….

"I see your Galderina Huffington, and I raise you… Ned Yonkers. Balderdash, little Cornelia. I think I've just bested you." He watched her little eyebrows knit together, her knuckles white as they held her trading cards. He was smirking, watching on the Great Hall table as Ned Yonkers through a scorching quaffle from his own card, into the middle goal post behind Galderina Huffington. Galderina swore, throwing her fist down. Cornelia copied her.

"You're not a very good sport, Cornelia," he warned her, gathering the two cards to add to his pile. The girls across from him looked very cross, indeed. All week he'd been snatching their toys from them—towering over them in their little game of Quiddich Cards. Octavia- the Ravenclaw- sat to the right side of her, and Julissa- the Slytherin- to the left. He'd sufficiently gathered nearly all of their Holiday gifts, at this point. He would have felt bad about it… but, evidently, her daddy _was_ going to punch him in the balls.

He sat lazily with an empty breakfast plate before him, leg up on the bench, the other bent over it, and he leaned on his elbow. He was growing bored of Hogwarts, now. He understood his past desire to come here… no glowering father… no sobbing mother… no imperfection seen in his mask, whatsoever. But now that Hermione Granger had peered to the other side of it, father was put away, and mother was a stark, raving nutter, Hogwarts just didn't have the same pull it once had.

"I don't think I want to play with him, anymore," Julissa said to her two friends, sliding her cards back into her pockets.

"We can't give up!" Cornelia said, defiantly.

"A good player knows when to surrender to avoid defeat," Octavia cut in, also slowly sliding her cards under the table. Cornelia was shaking her head.

Draco looked up, running a hand through his unwashed hair. He'd taken to sleeping in his old common room- the passwords had been easy enough to figure out. The portraits never changed their tunes, even if the students all had. _Snake Eyes_ had been one from his fourth year. It was only his second guess. A shower was a luxury he could do without for the next three days… if it meant staying the Hell away from _her._

He had to admit he was a little shocked when she hadn't set to rightly packing when she'd finished that damn diary… all those notes… all those _warnings…_ and not a lick of proof of what had actually happened to "dear" old Uncle Rory. He wasn't sure he even believed the last entry to be truthful. Anyone could have written that. Could have been Enzo. He was going out there, one way or the other, once all his ducks were in a row. He was not going to feel like this, forever. Enzo had it easy. He didn't _care_ what the meaning of it all was. He'd never cared about his blood or his legacy. All he cared about was Dragon Slaying, Potion Making, and now… remembering his brother.

Draco looked up in time to see her come in, Longbottom trailing along behind her. He smirked. Oh, he knew why he was _behind_ her… that chivalrous, "let me lick your shoes," routine to get into her neat, but a little bit tight pants? Let him try. Granger wasn't interested, and Draco didn't care. It would just be one more reminder of his glory days: watching Neville Longbottom fall flat on his face.

"Can't let him _beat _us, girls," he heard, being pulled back into his card game.

"He already has," Julissa said, studying her nails, unaffected by the events.

"We can find something good to do upstairs," Octavia reminded her. "We haven't even _touched_ any of the goodies my father bought for us, Cor—"

She slammed both fists down on the table. Both girls looked at her, hard. Even Draco was slightly alarmed.

"I'll make you a deal," she said to Draco, her eye contact a bit unnerving.

"One more round… out on the Lake. It's been warm, this week. Winner takes all."

"Oh… kay?" he said, trying to suss out where she was going with this one.

"It'll be more of a… I guess you'd call it… game of _chicken._"

He grinned. "Yeah? How so?"

"The ice will be melting," she broke into a wide smile. "The giant squid will be waking up."

* * *

Hermione and Neville gathered just enough food to satiate themselves and headed for the library, eating as they went. "Scourgify," Neville muttered when they were done, and the plates cleaned and scurried back toward the kitchens.

"Any sign of him?" Hermione couldn't help but ask. She cringed, inwardly. Merlin, she felt like she was 16 years old.

"Are you kidding?" he asked, chuckling.

"What?"

"He was sitting at the sodding Gryffindor table, Hermione. You didn't catch him?"

She was shocked. "You're sure?" she asked. He nodded, rolling his eyes.

"Oh yeah. He's been cheating his way through my students' Christmas presents all week."

Now she was less than shocked. "Oh," she said. She sighed.

"Can't wait to suss all this out for you," he said, gesturing to her papers. She nodded, happy to change the subject.

"It'll certainly help me relax," she said. Together, they entered the library. Her research was all as she'd left it, though the grumpy old librarian, Mrs. Pince, had nearly had a stroke when she'd asked if she could leave it out to save time and energy. Neville and she sat down on opposite ends of the table and set to work.

The silence between them was nice. It was comfortable. Hermione desperately needed comfort back in her life. For so long, it was all she knew. Comfort. Contentment. Predictability. She had learned to rely on it. Nowadays, she felt as if she was flying between emotions, uncontrollable, and totally unpredictable. She was hot and cold, and nothing in between. This was nice, this time alone with Neville.

"Hermione…" he suddenly said. "Can I see the transcription? The prophecy?"

Hermione looked through her pile before handing him a scrap of notepaper. He read, aloud:

"_He will not know you. He will not remember them. His wand is broken, in spirit. The essence is gone. In the vault—the lost vault—he lies. He waits. He knows you come for him… but he knows not who you are. The one in charge, he waits for HER. Two halves of one whole—the key. You will set them free. And they will change the world. Be ready for battle. The third week of the fifth month. You'll wear silver."_

Her handed the paper back to Hermione. She glanced at all the little notes and blurbs she'd scribbled into her notes.

"And the voices, yeah? They talked about the Mountain of the Sky Chambers… two halves, one path, "His" wrath… you reckon 'He' is 'The one in Charge'?"

"Makes sense," Hermione said. "I've been looking at the documents of black magic we have here from Iraq. Harry had a run in with some of these 'forbidden' books when we were kids. I've only opened them a few times… enough to know what's inside. There's plenty here on every horrible thing you can imagine… but nothing about a _second man_ only referred to as 'He.'"

Nevill's eyes went large.

"A second man. A second 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be—"

"Voldemort, Neville. To call him anything less is an insult to Harry; to your parents."

Neville nodded. "I can respect that. Force of habit," he said.

"I don't think it's Voldemort, though. I think this is something _older_ than Voldemort… perhaps, not the source of all that he stood for, but definitely a power that's been laid to rest for years. It talks of us wearing silver- or at least Draco- when he "sets them free." I _have_ found a poem—a nursery rhyme, rather, about an Ancient War in Sumeria, sort of a satire about Religion, and how it rules the people. It says that The True Knights of Kings wear Silver to be Pure, because Silver is impenetrable from lies and corruption, and will protect them as they make their way to open the cage."

"Not a great nursery rhyme, if you ask me."

"Well, it rhymes in Sumerian." She stuck her tongue out at him. "But, that poem really strikes a chord, don't you think? After all… that symbol of Silver being pure has carried over in SO many cultures… and even Salazar Slytherin was adamant that his colors _had_ to be Silver and Green. Silver for their _purity_, and green—"

"For their righteous, jealous arses."

Hermione grinned.

"If you only came to make me laugh, you are not helping, Neville Longbottom."

"Sorry, sorry. Carry on, madam." She rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway.

"So, that's the part I'm set on. We're still talking about whatever's happening in Iraq. Draco's uncle found he had to set out for there, and now we have as well. There's _something_ there, that's for bloody certain. And if I'm being honest, and though you know I _hate_ to assume… I think the prophecy is talking about Draco's Uncle, Rory. "He will not know you. He will not remember them…." It seems to suggest that he's being imprisoned, which after all, though not _great_ news, at least he's not DEAD in that case. I just, I feel it in my gut, Neville. My intuition. But… is it enough?"

"You're not gonna find that level of detail in these history books, Hermione. Harry always goes with his gut."

"I know," she said. "I'm just… not used to it."

"Hey. You're shacking up with a _Slytherin_, Granger. Maybe change is your new middle name."

She rolled her eyes and cracked open another book.

"Help me find something concrete I can use, you old troll."

He smiled deeply, righted himself, and set upon helping her research.

* * *

Draco was standing on the ice, his head high, though honestly, he was a bit petrified of this little girl. How had such a tiny thing come up with something so brutal? And what if she was genuinely hurt in all this? Would he be imprisoned? Was he endangering the welfare of a child engaging in something so irresponsible? McGonagall was going to have his throat if she was hurt. And if _he_ was… well… he reckoned that'd be the second wet dream he'd be able to give Granger.

"Ready?" she asked him, her cards at her feet. His breath stood before him in a clean puff. The sooner he got started, the sooner he could get back to the roaring fire in the Slytherin common room, and all the pumpkin juice the dear little elfies would bring him.

"Ready," he said. They sat. On the shore, what must have been dozens of students were watching them. Their little heads poked high over one another to take a guess at who would be chickening out first. He wagered that the money was on Cornelia, but probably not _all_. She was really something, this little firecracker.

"Draw," she said. They each pulled cards from the full pile beside the tall icepick that stood balanced with its tip digging into the shallow ice which he wasn't sure was holding _them_ up by more than sheer magic, alone. He wasn't sure how many plays it was going to take, laying cards down on that sharp pick before the ice finally cracked, and the danger would be released from below. Draco read over his cards, hungrily. He set his first card down squarely on top of the icepick, and it dug a little deeper toward the murky water below.

"Hollace Showboat," he said. The beater plugged away at the air showing off his bulging biceps. Cornelia nodded, showing her approval. She lay her first card on top of his, and the pick slid just a hair deeper.

"Ziggy Zespy," she said, smiling. "Fastest seeker that ever the World of Quidditch has known." He zipped about on his card, and Hollace appeared, racing toward him. Ziggy flew on behind him, blowing raspberries over his shoulder. Draco put down his second card.

"Peter Gollespie," he said, "Strong. Polish. Smart." He stood blocking Draco's goal posts, poised and ready for battle.

"Arminio Godric Jolly," he said. He was doing a handstand on his broom, spinning about.

"Show off," Draco commented. Arminio righted himself on his broom and sped off with the quaffle toward the goal posts.

"Blake Billows," he said, his first Chaser played. A bludger came from seemingly nowhere and knocked the quaffle out of Arminio's hand. Blake grabbed it and hustled toward a set of empty goal posts on Cornelia's side.

The crowd was whispering. They were starting to get restless, for only the two of them could see the game… and the ice pick was growing steadily closer to the break of the ice. A crack had formed along either side of it. Draco knew it was only going to deepen as they played.

Quickly, Cornelia threw down a Keeper. "Yolanda Supremo," she said. The woman on the broom rubbed her hands together, her long, full braid knotted in sections all the way down to her feet. As Blake sped toward her with the quaffle and chucked it, she spun around, her hair in the air, and knocked the quaffle back to Arminio with her braid. He was heading now for Draco's goal post.

"Scuttle Borges," he said, the Spanish trickster winked as he dove through the sky and down toward the lawn on the field. He waggled his eyebrows as he followed after Ziggy, actively chasing the snitch. He was surfing on his broomstick to catch the speedy flyer's attention. It worked. Ziggy was caught off guard, running headfirst into a goal post. He recovered, but only barely holding on, and snickering, Scuttle was diving after the snitch.

"Alice Hugsbane," Cornelia said, thumping the card down on the icepick… that was all it took. The crack around the icepick deepened, and the icepick shook before diving below the surface. Draco snatched the cards from its surface before it disappeared under the surface of the lake. Three bubbles reached the surface, and the two of them locked eyes.

"Run," he said.

"Not a chance," she whispered. His heart was pounding. Was she _serious?! _ A roar could be heard under the ice, and the surface of the lake began to quake.

A cheer caught Draco's attention. He looked to the crowd, but they were silent, aghast, and waiting for their next move. He looked down at the cards in his hands. Scuttle was crying his fool eyes out, running across the field, and Ziggy had the snitch in his two hands, whistling and cheering. Cornelia's team was running the field carrying him, having won their came of Quidditch Cards. Draco looked up at her, smiled.

"You caught the snitch," he said, handing her the pile.

She beamed, accepting the cards, and another rumble came from beneath them. Her wide eyes focused on the other end of the lake.

"MOVE!" she yelled. Together they stood and half-skated/half-ran from the crack in the ice as the two pieces moved apart. They only barely escaped as The Giant Squid jumped into the air, its tentacles grabbing for them as it soared up, then down, breaking a giant hole in the remaining ice and reentering the surface. Though they had reached the grassy lawn, and Cornelia's friends had surrounded her with cheers and applause, the squid continued to search for them, jumping, cracking and breaking, until the lake was awash with icebergs floating on its crystal surface underneath the glorious, setting sun.

"Wait," Cornelia said to her friends who were carrying her away triumphantly. She ran back to Draco. She took a deep breath and held out her hand.

"You are a worthy opponent," she said. He looked down at it for a moment, tiny and symbolic. He shook it. She flicked a card to him.

"To remember me by?" she said. He picked it up. She ran back to join her friends. In the setting sun, he held up the card to view. The card was Humphrey Torvald, a Keeper who bore some resemblance to himself. Draco smiled, a genuine smile. The man was famous for guarding his emotions better than his goalposts... a heart-throb Keeper with the ladies. He pocketed the card, sat down on the lawn, and watched the icebergs float without regret on the perfect surface of the lake.

* * *

Though Hermione had discovered nothing new today, she at least had not spent it by herself, anxiously realizing that time was running out. She at least had spent it with a friend. And, she tried to consider, she _had _at least also told him of her gut feelings, and he had sided with her. Perhaps it would be enough for Draco, too, if it was truly enough for her. Together, he walked her back to her room.

"Where's he been staying?" Neville asked casually. Hermione shrugged, then sighed.

"At first, he was with me. Then… we had a bit of a row."

"Yeah? Give him a good one, did you?"

She laughed.

"Too good. He's not been back, since."

"And the couch?"

"For him, of course. The room _required_ for us to sleep separately."

He chuckled, looked down, and a look came over his face that Hermione did not recognize... something like nostalgia? Something like disappointment. She held her gaze on him and he looked back to her.

"You got a thing for him, yeah?" It was if an impenetrable, diamond-thick wall came down around her. All sound disappeared but the ringing in her ears. The hairs on her neck were standing on end. He stopped walking, noticing that she had fallen behind and turned to look at her.

"Do I… have a _what_?"

He smiled at her. "S'okay, Hermione. I'm not going to tell anyone."

She was appalled. "Neville. What could _possibly_ have brought you to this conclusion?"

He looked at her, incredulous, and walked back to her. He slung an arm around her shoulder.

"Hermione… look. I like you. I've liked you for a long, long time. Now- don't get me wrong. I've _dated_. I'm not lonely, and I'm not _pining_ after you. But I'm not blind, either. The banter… the way you two look at one another—"

"It's called _revulsion!"_

"No, it's called _chemistry._ You care about _nothing_ else like you do for Draco Malfoy. And it's clear that he fancies you… if not for the right reasons."

She wasn't sure what to do—or say. He was a lunatic. That's all there was to it. But how to tell him… should she just turn and run? Or maybe she'd oblivate herself gently to make it all go away. Surely there was a strong enough sleeping potion she could take to sleep it all off and convince herself this moment had only been a dream.

"He's a Slytherin, Neville. He makes us _all_ angry."

He sighed, shaking his head, no longer looking at her. He didn't believe her! She wanted to grab him and shake him. They weren't _shagging_ for Merlin's sake! Well… that is, you couldn't define what had transpired as shagging, _really_… and it hadn't STRICTLY been something that she'd desired to happen. She just hadn't _stopped_ him, is all.

"Just… promise me something, Hermione."

"Neville, I—"

"If this gets bad… if you two _are_ the two halves to this 'Key…' if what you open isn't something pleasant, or if it comes down to you or him… just… promise me you won't lose your head. The world is better with you in it. And don't _ever_ let him take you for granted."

He pecked her on the cheek. She didn't even have the stamina to blush. She was wild with questions. Had he always been this crazy? Did he end up shagging everyone he had a passing disagreement with?

"Hope I'm not interrupting your love making session, Granger," she heard from behind her, and then came the scarlet blush across her face.

"Just thought we should get down to business."

* * *

Were they kissing?! Draco was aghast. He'd nearly been eaten by a Giant Buggering Squid, and he walks into a different set of tentacles all over a witch he was supposed to be sharing a bloody bed with. He never would have thought that Longbottom had it in him. Or had she instigated? He'd rounded the corner just in time to see him pull away from her- straight as a stick, no hint of melting against him the way he knew she could. He was unashamed, and bloody _angry_ and he had no idea why.

When he'd spoken to them, they'd both turned. He couldn't even hear what Longbottom had said. The look on Hermione's face stopped him dead. She was embarrassed, shaky, confused… what had he just _done_ to her. Draco looked between their faces.

"Couldn't get her to kiss you right, Longbottom, so you had to force one out of her?"

His face contorted, looking to Hermione, then back. "Not all right are ya, Malfoy? Time away's made you thick in the head."

"Time away has made me thick, but not in the head. You bloody traumatized her. Look at her!"

"_I _traumatized her? I _care_ about her! All you do is buggering _take_!"

Draco laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is _that_ what she told you? Take, I did. I took what she was begging me to, and she's been only the better for it."

Suddenly, the tension around them was so thick that the three of them could scarcely move… Draco immediately realized his misconception.

"He better not be serious," he heard Neville mutter. He looked to Hermione. Her face was open as a book, the pages frail and blotted with ink, but the message so clear that it sung.

Neville charged at Draco, wand at the ready, but he barely needed it. With one jump he knocked Draco to the floor. He was on top of him, punching, kicking, knocking the very wind out of him. Draco could barely keep up. He was staying afloat only with defensive positions as he tried to keep his sensitive bits covered up. He did the only thing he could think to do. Longbottom was getting the better of him, somehow. He wasn't giving him much choice. He withdrew his wand and muttered, "Ferrum, Factus." His wand transformed in his hands between them to a long, shining dagger.

"Draco, NO!" he heard Hermione scream, but it was too late. His wand was already deep inside Neville Longbottom's gut.

* * *

Neville fell sideways off of Draco Malfoy, clasping his gaping wound. Draco made to stand and Hermione pushed him back to the ground, falling beside Neville to dress his wound. She covered it with both hands, closing her eyes. "Revealo," she said under her breath. She let a breath escape her. "No major organs," she said to Neville, who's face was contorted with pain. She pointed her want into the wound, let the blood wash onto its tip. "Episkey," she said, and the wound closed up. Neville caught his breath, his long hair in his eyes, sweat beading on his forehead.

Draco seemed to have realized what had happened. He was leaning over Neville, in a kind of a tizzy that Hermione had never seen him in before. Was that _regret?_ Perhaps it was just the dreading of consequences. He must have known that she was going to have to put his bloody lights out for this one. Really. He was in _no_ position to be jealous. And he was so buggering lucky that Neville was going to be all right.

"Let me up, Hermione," he said to her, huskily. He rose. Draco started to speak, then stopped. Neville was breathing hard, his eyes locked on Draco. He walked toward him, right up to his nose. Draco backed up a hair, but Neville closed the distance once more.

"If you _ever_ hurt her, Malfoy… you're going to wake up on fire." He let the comment settle for a moment, let Draco's wide eyes stay locked onto his, before he raised his knee sharply, and it connected with Draco Malfoy's testicles. He collapsed on the ground in a pile of agony and deserved shame. Neville sniffed, wiped the sweat from his face. He looked down at his blood-soaked robes.

"I have to… change. Can't let the students see me like this," he said. She nodded.

"Go," she said. "We're lucky they haven't seen too much, already." He nodded, sent Draco another lingering look, and sped off. Hermione looked down at Draco, half-wanting to leave him there, half-wanting to go off to the Library, finish her research, and head on to her next destination by herself. She'd be safer- she knew it. She'd certainly be more content.

She sunk to her knees beside Draco, and gently let her hand follow the curve of his thigh until it found his hand, where she let it rest. She blinked at him. He opened his eyes and looked at her, his features starting to settle as the pain eased away.

"He was kissing my cheek," she said, quietly. For a moment, only silence passed between them. He swallowed audibly.

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know," she said.

"The things he said, I… I thought you'd _told _him,"

"I didn't have to."

Draco coughed. He looked away from her. There were some things that neither of them was ready to come to terms with. She felt a small smile pull her lips. She looked away from him.

"You're a blithering idiot," she said gently.

"You're an uptight freak," he muttered.

She smiled. Content without him, she certainly would be.

But that was just the issue. Hermione Granger was tired. She was_ tired_ of being content.


	11. Chapter 11: The Compromise

This Chapter has sexually explicit material in it! You have been warned. :) If you wish to skip it, simply skip to where the line breaks and it turns into Draco's point of view. All you will miss out on is one of the finer things in life. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

Hermione and Draco went back to their room in silence. His jaw was bruised from Hermione's swift hit the other day, his clothes were a mess, and Neville had really done a number on him. She opened the door for him, knowing that he had had the rougher day between the two of them.

He walked in and she followed, closing the door behind her. She felt like if they had been friends, she could have said something along the lines of, "We need to talk." But, what were they now? Not friends. Not lovers. She was attracted to him—it almost pained her to think of it, but she was… physically, anyway. His personality repelled her more than anything she'd ever known, but it didn't have the ability to shut down her libido, unfortunately. She hadn't known she'd had a type, but boy was he ever hers… tall, slightly built, but still thin- not overly muscular or masculine… that hair and skin- always perfect, with _no_ effort, whatsoever… she put no effort whatsoever into her _own_ appearance and it showed. But him? He could have been on the cover of Witch Weekly as he was and no one would have guessed it took zero maintenance.

She only barely was able to address him by his first name without him spitting venom at her… how was she supposed to breech the subject of _trust_ in an adult way? But it needed to happen, or they would carry on like they had been in this endless spiral downward of insults, accusations, and fights… and even fights that lead to pleasure were still totally detrimental to her mission.

"Draco… can we… have a minute?" she began. He was walked toward their shower.

"Can I have a minute, first?"

She lost her answer, looking down, searching for words. She was anxiously playing with her hands.

"I just want to—" she looked to him, and her words caught in her throat. He was undressing, as if she weren't in the room… first the long-sleeved shirt, then the undershirt… his back was wide and long, his shoulders broad and defined on either side of his spine, which curved elegantly downward and disappeared beneath his pants… until he lost those, too, and then he was standing magnificently before her, naked and unashamed. He shook his hair out and it lightly brushed against his shoulders. He turned toward her and she felt the color rising into her neck, cheeks and ears.

"Listen, Granger. You can join me if you'd like to. But right now, I'm taking a shower. I'm not going anywhere."

He reached into the shower and turned on the water. She heard it spraying the shower floor. He stepped inside and she turned away from him, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Merlin, _why_ did he have to be so brazen?! She _never_ could have done that… stepped into the light and just shown someone the goods. She'd never even seen a naked man until Ronald had worked up the courage to show her _his_ and that had been a night with the lights off, and with too much firewhiskey for her taste. But, Malfoy… he'd stripped down and turned around as if it was nothing—as if that was how he usually walked around the bloody park!

She needed a drink now, too, she reckoned.

She felt pressure against her shoe. She looked down and a bottle of Merlot stood down proudly against her leg. She sighed.

_I need a massage, a million galleons, and a new business partner, while you're at it,_ she thought loudly at the room, picking up her bottle of wine and uncorking it. She took a huge gulp, sitting down on the edge of her bed, ruffling her hair absentmindedly as she did.

She didn't know how many minutes she had while he was in the shower, but she was definitely going to need all of them to calm down. She kicked off her shoes and with a glance toward the shower, she began to undress, pulling a pair of comfortable pants and a pajama shirt from her suitcase and dropping them on the bed for herself to change into. Hurriedly, she unclasped her bra and let it drop. She unbuttoned her pants, letting them fall as well.

The shower turning off was nearly deafening to her, and her eyes shot to it. She couldn't believe he was done so fast! Bloody _men! _She yelped and covered herself as the shower door opened and he stepped out, pulling a towel around his waist. She dove beside the bed and pulled her clothes into her lap, but he was much too quick, his stride too long, and she accidentally startled him. He faced her, looking what of her he could see up and down, surprised. Water droplets were sliding out of his hair, down his face, slithering down his torso… her mouth went dry.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing back there?" he asked.

"I…" her throat was tight. Her hands wouldn't close around her clothes. He peered over the edge of the bed… saw her clothes in her lap, her shaking hands, her nudity.

"Stand up," he said quite calmly, in a voice she almost didn't recognize, and for some reason she couldn't fathom, she complied.

She stood up, her clothes in a ball at her feet, just a pair of panties around her. Her breasts and belly were bare, her hair loose and hanging down to the small of her back. He was only feet away from her, just as covered as she was, but she felt as if he was already touching her. His gaze upon her worked like fingers to make her gasp, and her head was filled with memories from days ago. She couldn't look at him. Her eyes were on the ground. The moment went on too long. She felt the shame, her arms creeping up to cover herself, but his hand on her forearm stilled her; brought her eyes up to meet his, at last.

"Don't," he said, his eyes lowering over her, taking every inch of her in. Slowly, he was pulling her to him. He let the towel drop. She could feel his hot breath on her face, the wetness of his body against her dry, cold skin. She shivered, and he answered by pulling her bottom lip between his teeth.

As gently as the kiss began, someone must have turned up the gas beneath them, because the flame exploded before Hermione could utter a word, and her legs were up and around his waist in seconds, and he was falling backward onto the bed. It was incredible how strongly her body responded to him.

She straddled him, their lips never parting, open mouths, tongues exploring, and then she found just the right amount of suction to make him gasp. It was making her liquefy atop him, that sound—that vulnerability. She bit down and he groaned aloud against her. He was hard between her legs and she couldn't help but to grind against his length.

His hands found her breasts and she squeezed her thighs around him in response. His thumbs brushed over her nipples and she threw her head back, color in her lips and cheeks from the arousal. His hand found her back and he held her tightly as he flipped them, and then she was on her back, her legs up and around him. He hooked his fingers into her panties and pulled them sharply down, her legs over her head as they came off and flew over the edge of the bed. He was kissing her again, her jaw, her earlobe, her neck, and he grazed it with his teeth. She whimpered, her ankles crossing behind his back. He took it as an invitation, and let a hand creep between them and begin to gently stroke her sex. She cried out when at last her need was fulfilled and he entered her with his fingers. With his thumb, he teased her clitoris, the sensitive numb begging him for more. She pulled air into her mouth through clenched teeth.

She was throbbing and ready for him when at last he finally took her. His length filled parts of her that had never been explored before and she shook a little under the overwhelming, building power within her. He felt it, and he slowed. He was giving her time to adjust to the full weight and girth of him, but she wasn't having it.

She bucked and pushed him backward. His head fell back over the foot of the bed and she climbed atop him anyway. Thighs at his sides, she pushed down on him and his neck craned to watch her as she rode him. Deep inside her, he was holding his breath as she drove him mad, rolling her hips, raking her nails down his chest. She had found her pleasure, there, with Draco Malfoy inside of her, and she was on fire. She pumped him for more, desperate to hit the crescendo, for the climb was more than she was prepared for. Her body was reaching new limits as he thrust up to meet her with every rotation of her pelvis.

"Merlin, Hermione," he managed to get out, but she barely heard him over the sounds she couldn't believe were coming from herself. His hands squeezed her waist, pulling her down harder and faster upon him and they were both beginning to tense.

She wanted to tell him, wanted to let him know she was about to cum, but she didn't have to. He felt her tighten around him and he pulled her down to him by the hair at the nape of her neck. The subtle pain did her in and she came, harder than she ever had before, screaming, legs shaking, white knuckles on both hands that dug into his shoulders, her head buried deeply into his chest and her eyes closed. He was a close second, shooting into her, quenching the thirst inside of her, humbling her, whispering her name until the fire between them finally burnt out.

The euphoria didn't dissipate immediately, as it had in the past. For a long while, her eyelids were filled with a snowy, off-color sort of ripple. Her legs might as well have been gone, because she couldn't feel them beneath her any longer. He was still inside her, going soft, but throbbing. His hands were on her hips as the two of them breathed heavily, gently kneading her. Everything around her was humming, and for just a moment, he wasn't Draco Malfoy. He wasn't the boy who she'd shared such mutual hatred with for seven, long years. He wasn't a pureblood, and she wasn't muggle-born. There was only magic, that magic they shared, so desperate to unite them and make something new.

When at last she remembered where she was, and who she was on top of, she found the energy to sit up on him. The feeling of him shift inside her sensitive sex was almost too much. She gasped and he slid out of her. She rolled back onto the balls of her feet on the bed and looked at him, so deliciously naked… still wet from the shower, with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, chest, and simply _covered_ in her. She sat back toward the pillows and pulled the sheets over herself… the love making now over, she was suddenly quite self-conscious.

"Don't be," he said quietly, gently, to her. Her brow furrowed.

"Don't be?" she asked.

"Shy," he said. "After a session like that, you can't fool me, anymore, Granger. You're no prude."

A genuine smile cracked her face wide open and she let out a hard, full-bodied laugh… the first one she'd uttered in months. He lay naked before her, hand subconsciously stroking up his body, as if checking to make sure it was still there.

"You're so bloody _bold_," she said, looking away, still smiling, scarlet, but not ashamed for once.

He didn't answer her, but lay at the foot of the bed as if studying her. She felt the smile creep away from her, aware once more of how far from knowing what he might be thinking she really was, and realizing that she _cared_ now on a deeper level than she had before. It was more personal now than it had been in the past. If he decided he hated her now, he actually _knew_ her. It actually _meant_ something.

He looked at the bed, and his eyes rolled to the couch. She realized suddenly that he felt _awkward._ She swallowed, searching for courage, and slid down the blanket next to her in the rather large bed. He saw the invitation, but hesitated for a moment before sitting up, pulling himself toward her, and letting his legs fold underneath the blanket.

She was naked in bed with Draco Malfoy, and had just shared what was probably the most intense session of sex she ever could have imagined. It was beyond whatever was in the magazines—the teenage love stories. And it wasn't _love_ she reminded herself… it was passion. It was desperate, unashamed, unfriendly, and utterly disloyal passion. But it was enough so that she knew now if she had never truly known before, that she had made the right decision in letting Ron go.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was shocked, and he was happy to admit it. Hermione Granger had just given him the most satisfying shag he'd ever had. Not only that… she'd all but _initiated_ it. She wasn't a bottom. She'd spent less than a minute flat on her back, and during the rest she had done nearly _all_ the work and had made them both cum so stunningly that he nearly lost himself inside her in the moment, and almost told her that he _loved_ her.

Imagine that. He'd _never_ made that mistake, before. But he almost had, with a girl he wasn't even sure he _liked. _

But he did love that body, and all the wondrous things it could do, if perhaps unwisely.

And now, he realized, she wasn't sobbing. She wasn't shouting. She wasn't even contemplative. She was… _happy._ She wasn't talking about weddings or holding hands, or going out to bloody dinner. She was just sitting here with him in silence, and hadn't yet kicked him out of her bed, in the head, and told him never again to touch her.

Even if she had… she wouldn't have meant it.

The way her body had hugged him, squeezed him, begged him not to go? He knew she was just as hooked as he was. That was surely not going to be their last tumble, even if she tried to tell him it was.

His back against the pillows, he thought it was a shame he'd spent so much time listening to his pathetic family and not having a go with her in school. Surely, if hatred was what fueled this fire, it would have been just as—if not more—mutually beneficial, then. But she never would have gone for it, he remembered. Potty and Weasel would have had his guts for garters.

_Might have been worth it…_

"Can I ask you something?" she said at last, gently, but prodding. His head turned toward her. "Is it… always like that, for you?"

He knew what she meant, and everything inside of him warned him to lie. To tell her the truth about this would mean several things he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with if things ended up going sour—really sour. He wasn't about to commit to this girl, and he knew that that big brain of hers would hold facts like a trap for things to be used later in battle.

"No," he said quietly… and for some reason, he had told her the truth, all the same.

_Prat._

"Me neither," she admitted. He sighed. Well, at least there was that. A mutual chemistry, and a mutual revulsion… perhaps that was all that made it strong, he thought: their hatred. He chose not to get into it. He grinned.

"Safe to assume then, that this will not be a 'one and only,' thing," he said, decisively. She sighed. Never a good sign from a woman, he reckoned.

"Honestly, that all depends on you," she said. He was surprised. She had… no opinion? Hermione Granger was a hot and cold type of woman. For her to be melancholy was quite odd, indeed.

"How so?"

She reached over the side of the bed, hugging the sheets to her breasts as she did. He wished she wouldn't. They were small, but glorious, those perfect globes of porcelain flesh somewhere between a B and a C that just begged to be touched. She reappeared with something he had not expected… a bottle.

"I need you to take this," she said. He looked at it. He puzzled on it. It was unmarked, purple, with a sealed topper. It was about the size of a locket. She uncapped it.

"What is it?" he asked as she held the bottle out to him.

"I need to know if I can trust you," she said, the bottle coming ever closer. Everything in him was screaming to leave, but his legs couldn't seem to carry him away.

"What _is_ it?"

It was within his reach to grasp, now. She swallowed, her eyes plundering into his, against his will.

"It's Veritaserum."

* * *

She was nervous, all right. Merlin, her stomach was doing summersaults. It was a little late now, she reckoned, to make sure he was trustworthy. Her body was still aching from him- and for more of him. But she had to be sure. She _had_ to know. She wasn't about to walk head first into danger not knowing if he was coming up behind her to watch her back or stab it.

"I won't force you," she said. He gave her a look as if to ask her if she thought she _could._ "But… I'm not coming with you, if you say no."

He was torn, she could tell. His eyes were lingering on the bottle. A moment of silence passed between them in which he was thinking, she knew, of all the various ways in which this could be dangerous for him. If only he knew that she just didn't think like he did. She wasn't out to sabotage him. She _wanted_ to trust him. She just didn't. And—in all fairness—he hadn't given her a reason to.

"What… do you want to know?" he said in a calculating voice. She looked away from him. "Can I trust _you_?" he countered. She sighed.

"It does me no good to ask you before you take this, Draco. I won't trust it."

"I just want to know," he said. "If you tell me, first… I'll take it."

She felt herself stiffen. Truthfully, there _were_ some things she'd wanted to wait to bring up until he'd already taken the potion… personal things. She knew he'd never go for that, though. He'd see it as a weakness, and he needed to know she was strong to do this. She swallowed her pride and cleared her throat.

"I need to make sure you don't know more than you're telling me about all this. I need to make sure you're not hiding more about Rory, about Enzo, or about Iraq. You've known more than I have from the word, 'go.' I need to know… you're not going to push me into the fire to save yourself when we get down there… or at least, I need to know that's not your _plan."_

He was thinking, she saw. That wasn't entirely reassuring. If he had nothing to hide, he should have just taken it. But then, just when she was about to tell him to never mind, and call off the experiment… he took the potion from her hands.

"That's all?" he asked her, his gaze hard and unwavering.

"That's all," she answered. He swallowed the potion.

* * *

He was naked, he was a little too hot at this point, and now he was about to start sweating bullets, but he couldn't let her see it. Merlin, if their places were reversed, all the nasty things he would be asking her… his own deceitfulness made it hard for him to trust others. It always had.

He could immediately feel a sense of calm sweeping over him… a sense of all-knowing wonder within himself. He felt comfortable, and confident, in all the things he'd ever done, and anything that she might want to ask him. He smiled at her.

"This stuff's not bad," he said. She smiled.

"No?" she asked.

"That's not a question you've been approved to ask." He smiled at her. She stared at him a moment. His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"You're _smiling_," she said, as if in wonder. He laughed.

"I smile all the time."

"No, you always _smirk._ This is a SMILE. Like you _mean_ it!"

He rolled his eyes at her, but he was definitely amused. "Must be the potion."

"Right," she said, eyeing him. He shook his head at her.

"Wanna give it a go then, before this wears off?"

She sat up, cross-legged, the sheets hugging her gentle curves, and faced him. She looked ready to study. He wanted to smile at her again, but didn't want to distract her. He needed her trusting him if he was ever going to see his uncle, or get his answers.

"Do you have more secrets about Rory?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Draco said. Her mouth fell open, appalled.

"And you agreed to do this anyway?!"

"Yes. Need you to trust me," he said. She guffawed, incredulous, and shaking her head at him. He thought he might be about to get slapped, but… she regained her sense of professionalism. Thank Merlin for Gryffindors.

"What are they?"

"Rory and Enzo are twins. They have always been able to sense one another, magically speaking. Enzo has always known where Rory is… he knows he went to Iraq, and he knows he never left… but Rory is off the map. Enzo insists that dead or alive, he should sense him… and the fact that Rory's aura is gone completely is enough to keep him from searching, and enough that he's tried to stop me—and I assume you—from going, either."

She thought on that for a moment, drinking in his words.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't think you'd go if I did."

"Is there anything else?"

"If there is, I don't know about it either, but Enzo has secrets of his own."

"And Enzo. Are you purposefully keeping anything about him from me?"

"He's a Member of Old: A Secret keeper in an organization that goes back hundreds of years. He hunted dragons for decades, and created all the modern dragon-based potions we use, today. He's the reason my father changed his name to Malfoy, to separate us from his enemies. He had many. All the Members of Old do. They know too much."

"Members of Old… I've heard of them… a cult that keeps the secrets of the ancient black arts from all the corners of the world, right?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"One of his potions is designed to trap you within yourself, and force you to find the strength to break free. He gave it to Rory, and he gave it to me. He felt it was necessary before we go on this journey."

Hermione paused.

"How long did it take you?"

"Nine months."

"And it took Rory six?"

"Yes."

"That's what he's speaking of in his journal?"

"Yes."

"What happened to you while you were trapped?"

"I was in a coma until I found my way out."

"Merlin. How did you?"

She could tell she'd overstepped her boundaries. His eyes were telling her, even as his lips moved, and he felt the calm feeling around him slip away just a little.

"The trap is designed to show you what you most feel sorry for, what haunts you, makes you feel guilty, eats you up… it's everything that makes you feel weak, or worthless. I had to face it. I had to overcome it, to find my courage."

She nodded. She was dying to keep asking him questions, he could tell, but… she managed to take a deep breath and let them slip out of her mind.

"Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away with my… curiosity."

"I'm a little bit angry," he answered, and his brow furrowed. _Merlin, that sounds weird…._

She seemed to think so too. She was looking him up and down. Imagine. Draco Malfoy was "talking about his feelings." He rolled his eyes at himself. She grinned.

"Im sorry, again," she said. "It was an accident."

"I believe you, and now I feel stupid," he said. He bit his tongue. Hell, this was irritating. And now she was bloody giggling at him.

"Okay," she said, trying to regain her composure. She cleared her throat again. "If things get hairy in Iraq… if… things go wrong… will you betray me?"

"I don't know," he heard himself answer. He closed his eyes. It was over, he thought. She was blinking at him, her head resting on her hands. There was a long pause between them.

"Do you plan on leaving me behind, out there?"

"No," he said.

"Are you really going for your uncle?"

"Partly," he said. He felt rage filling him. She had not asked his permission to go there, he remembered, and she didn't even realize that she was asking him something else, entirely.

"Is this a trap you're setting for me?"

"No."

She paused again. He was sure she was going to ask why he was doing this, in full. She seemed to want to. In her shoes, he'd want to ask everything he could while he knew it would be the truth, but… Hermione Granger seemed to be a stronger witch than he was a wizard. She took another deep breath and looked away.

"As far as you know, is anything waiting for us there, in Iraq?"

"I only know what we've both discovered."

She nodded. She bent backward, retrieved another bottle—a larger one this time, about the size of a flask. On the side of it, it read, "H.S." She handed it to Draco.

"Drink this," she said. "It's Slughorn's. I stole it from his office, my final year. He'd left it out on the desk, and… I thought I might need it, if Harry, Ron or I were ever captured by Death Eaters and interrogated. It's the antidote."

Draco took it from her, looked in her eyes for a moment. She looked unsettled still, as if there was more that she just wasn't getting to. She wouldn't look into his eyes. He held the flask away from his face for a moment. He felt something inside him, wasn't sure if it was the potion or not, but he couldn't shake it. He let the flask fall into his lap for a moment. She looked up.

"Hermione… I can't promise you that I'll protect you with my life. I'm not a Gryffindor. I'm not the kind of man you're used to dealing with. In a pinch, I might save myself, because that's the sense I was born with. But… I want you to know… I don't _want_ anything to happen to you… because… I think I might _like_ having you around."

He lifted the flask to his lips and drained the contents of it. He felt his will power flooding back into his blood, pumping through his heart. He felt defiance wriggle up into his brain and loosen him up. His calm and confidence were gone, but not replaced by dread. On the contrary, he felt it was rather promising to see her still sitting there in front of him after he'd admitted to her all that he had. He stretched, loving the way it felt to have his control restored to him, even though the separation had been brief. Hermione was still contemplative on the bed, sussing over everything that he had given her. He lay back and try to relax a little before she made her decision. He might need his energy if he had to chase her down the hall.

Finally, his anxiety got the better of him.

"So," he said, not daring to look toward her. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about Enzo," she answered. He was a little surprised.

"Yeah?"

"I'm wondering how soon I can take this 'test' if we are to receive his full cooperation and help regarding getting into the hideaways of the Egyptian monks."

He was aghast.

"What?!"

She looked up sharply.

"What?" she answered. He guffawed at her.

"You've made your decision then? Just like that?"

"Well… yes."

"That's it?! No discussion? You don't have any bleeding _questions?"_

She arched a brow, her elementary-self coming back to play. "Draco, I just _asked _you a whole SLEW of questions. Whatever are you talking about?"

He sat up. "I mean, ya just… ya just _accept_ it?"

"Of course."

"But I said—"

"Draco. I know what you said. You don't know if you'd throw me off a cliff or not if it was you or me. Can I be honest? I don't _know_ what I would do EITHER. But it's a great burden off my mind to know that you're not bloody well PLANNING on doing it!"

His night had gone from traumatizing, to bombastic to unbelievable. He lay back against the pillows, his eyes drifting shut, when he thought of something that made him sit up, sharply.

"Granger…"

"Hmm?" she was still deep in thought.

"Can I… can we… reciprocate a bit?"

He had her attention. "What do you mean?"

He handed her the locket-sized bottle. A single drop of the stuff remained. She looked down at it.

"Probably enough for just one question, yeah?"

She looked down at it, then back to him. She was immediately suspicious.

"Just _one_ question?" she asked. He smiled wildly.

"Just the one."

She folded her hands in her lap. She sighed.

"I suppose that is _fair…"_

"Bloody generous of you," he said. He winked. She grinned.

"All right," she said. "But then we go to bed. We have work to do tomorrow. It's our last day here and I've not even spoken yet with McGonagall's niece, or any of the others I wanted to meet with."

He held both hands up. "Cross my heart," he said. He held out the bottle to her. She took it from him, and with just a moment's hesitation, she pressed it to the tip of her tongue. He waited a moment, wanted it to be fully sunken in. He waggled his eyebrows at her, a full smirk setting into his features. He leaned toward her.

"So tell me, Hermione Granger, because I really must know… what is it that in the coming weeks you simply cannot _wait_ for me to do to you, in all of your wildest fantasies?"

She turned fever red, her eyes wide as saucers, and he knew instantly that she did not want to answer him… but knew also, having experienced this torture, that she did not have a choice.

"I want you to use your mouth on me while I cannot get away, because it tickles, and I always try, but I think that if _you_ did it, it would be the most incredible thing."

She covered her mouth with her hands. He was grinning ear to ear. He leaned back against the headboard while she closed her eyes and looked away, cursing.

"I think we can probably arrange that, love. I get that. Oral sex... not for the feint of heart. It needs… the right _touch."_

He was chuckling to himself, even as both of her feet pressed against his hip bone and kicked him right out of bed and onto the floor.


	12. Chapter 12: The Journey Inside

The next days of research went well, as far as Hermione was concerned. Draco was responsible and stayed with her in the library. He helped her map out the journey they would need to take to get from A to B to P and Q and back. They understood that apparating near the boundaries of the lands of the Egyptian Monks was a bad idea- knowing that they would be able to sense their foreign presence and would be immediately suspicious, and as such, they vowed to get as close as possible and hike in spurts the rest of the way.

Hermione _was_ a bit surprised that talk of the passion they'd shared only days ago was a topic he had yet to breach. He didn't seem embarrassed or regretful, oh no. He seemed bloody near… _happy_. He seemed light, tension-free, and ready to get down to business. He seemed to feel almost as good as she did—well, apart from the awkwardness of the secret he'd forced her to reveal to him. But, she only halfway regretted that moment. There were lots more things that she could have said that would have been worse, in her opinion. He was just a bugger for asking in the first place.

Besides, the amount of relief, and pleasure that she felt _now_ was worth it. His presence was bearable... the only slightly disappointing after effect of the whole night had been the small pain of him leaving her. She guessed it must happen to women the first time they were with a man who was rather _well-endowed _as violently as she had been, but she hadn't expected to feel it for several _days_. She just hoped the cramps would pass soon. It was truly the only damper on the whole situation. But, she expected that as long as it cleared up sometime in the next millennium, she would be more than willing to do it all again. With _Draco Malfoy_... she could hardly believe it.

Now, between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, there was a shared determination, and an understanding that had not been there before. The one distraction- which she would happily have been rid of for it was making the little voice in the back of her head turn into a ninny- was that whenever in the heat of a good study their fingers brushed, or he walked a bit too close to her in the halls… she felt him on levels should never would have imagined. A fingertip against her palm and he was back inside her again, writhing underneath her. It drew a blush to her cheeks every time, and consistently she found she was losing her train of thought, or the point she'd meant to make. Half of her hoped it would disapate before they stated hiking into parts unknown… the other half was glad she had it; didn't want it to _ever_ stop. In a way, despite who it was with… it was kind of nice.

But, things couldn't be all roses and paradise. Oh, no. There was one topic they just simply did not agree on.

"I'm going back to see him, tonight," she insisted to Draco for what seemed like the millionth time. He sighed.

"I wish you wouldn't."

"Malfoy, if he feels that I need to take this _test_ then… I do! He knows more about these wizards than either of us, and I trust his judgment on this. He belongs to The Way of the Old. He knows his dark magic."

"You don't need to take the test. Trust _my_ judgment."

She shook her head, a deep breath escaping from her. She wanted to, but she just didn't. He didn't know what his uncle did. It seemed to her that he had hated taking the test himself, and simply wanted to spare her- and himself- from a drawn out process of getting back out of it. But, she prided herself on having very little in her life that she wanted to escape from. She didn't feel guilty about much. Oh, there were moments she wished she could change, but… nothing like someone like Draco Malfoy or his muggle-born torturing uncle must have had. No, if this test would make her a stronger witch, a witch more _worthy_ of knowledge in the eyes of the Egyptian Brotherhood, then… she had to take it. She would waste absolutely no chances in them accepting her and bestowing their ideas upon her before she and Draco headed out after Rory to Iraq.

"It's our last day," she began again and she watched his fingers tighten on the pages of the giant book he held on his lap. He was growing impatient with her. "I simply want to _ask him_ if he would find it to be necessary."

"Then bloody well go. Don't bother sneaking around about it, trying to get me to 'admit' that I think it's a good idea. I don't! Just say it—just tell me you're going, and that's that."

She was a little surprised at the change in his manner. She had put him off, but she wasn't sure how other than simple irritation, but it seemed like more.

"Okay," she said, her chair screeching against the floor in the quiet library. "I'm going, then."

"Now?"

"Why not?"

"Well, because first you may want to say goodbye to your loved ones, write any last minute bills out to be sent, and forget about going to Egypt any time soon."

She sighed. She sat back down, slowly.

"Right. Didn't think so."

* * *

"The Mind Weaver's Experience" was growing rigid in Draco's hands. He'd never held a book so tightly in all his life. He'd only opened the bloody thing to show her _why_ she'd been being foolish all morning, and now he couldn't find the part he was looking for… it was all gibberish on mindreading, telepathy, telekinesis, talking to the dead, telling knock-knock jokes to babies in the womb, that sort of nonsense—not at all why he'd chosen to pull it from the shelf.

Draco was hot to tell her off about the damn "test." She was thinking of her bloody OWLS, he knew—the high scores she'd always gotten, being the best in the damn class… she had no idea how much deeper than that this was. This wasn't a test of brains or power, it was a test of inner magics that she had no idea of— none of them did until they went there, themselves. She probably reckoned she'd have it easy being goody-two-shoes Gryffindor. She didn't realize he didn't _have_ any regrets before he went into that place. He'd been proud of damn near everything he'd ever done, and if not _proud_, well, at least he'd had an _excuse._ But what once you were down there on that level… it didn't matter anymore. What she didn't realize is that having a bunch of bloody bullshit that _made sense_ to be angry and regretful over had only helped him in the long run… she'd have it even worse than he had.

And the longer it took her to get past it, the longer she'd be down there.

He didn't want her to do it, to be truthful. She was powerful enough without doing it, and the monks would see how true her soul was—how clear her mind was. She didn't need to do it, but if she went to Enzo and told him she wanted to, he'd do it. He'd rather be safe than sorry. Draco didn't give a damn about safe, and he wasn't planning on being sorry, either. He just wanted to get it done… but he couldn't explain it to her… and he knew that even if he could, she would still want to.

He sighed, looking about the library, and for just a moment, a feeling overcame him… a soft, whispering feeling… something like being inside of her, but not… not quite. There was warmth, and for just a moment, splendid light. He blinked rapidly and shook his head.

"Did you see that?" he asked. She looked at him bizarrely.

"What?"

He looked between them and noticed that her hands were brushing against his. He quickly retrieved them and found the warmth beginning to ebb away. He was shocked. He'd heard about girls getting warm, swim my feelings after a great shag, but what was that rubbish about? That hadn't been an 'emotion' he'd felt. That was a bloody out-of-body experience. He couldn't quite shake it. He shuffled through his book for just a moment. He had a feeling he'd just read something about this, somewhere in this gaping mindfuck of a book. He began to leaf through it but he heard her sighing. Where the hell was that page? He kept turning.

"Draco, this isn't just going to _go away._"

He knew it wasn't. _I JUST read it!_ _Where the hell is it?_

"Whether or not you choose to answer me about it, I think we really ought to discuss it. It's something I feel that I need to do. I don't want to be unprepared, and I just—"

He stopped leafing. Didn't even look down. He stared at her.

"If you're going to go in there, Granger…" she looked up at him sharply, but he looked away. He couldn't get past the bold, disgruntled taste of chivalry his tone was sure to have. "Take me with you."

* * *

He wanted to… _go with her?_

"How… _why?_ How would that even _work?_ Why would you need to do that?" He took a deep breath and folded his hands in front of him.

"I'm not waiting around, sitting on my hands while you play Alice in Wonderland in the rabbit hole of that big brain of yours, Granger. It could take months. It could take _years_. I've done it before. If I go down with you, I can help to pull you out if things get hairy. We can get through it quickly, you can get a taste, and we can get back in time to really _do_ this."

Hermione was aghast.

"You think I can't do it by myself?"

It seemed that was just what he was hoping she _wouldn't_ think of his offer.

"It's not—"

"It is. Listen, Malfoy. I know I'm a bloody Mudblood to you and on some rancid level, that is all I will ever be. Well, rubbish. If you can do this test, all the loads of ignorant, insulting things you've done to people, then so can I!" She rose from the table and strode swiftly away from him.

He got up to follow her, but her wand was out before he could manage and she pointed it squarely between his eyes. She knew what she needed to do, even if he never forgave her when he managed to figure it all out.

"Obliviate!" she all but whispered.

He fell back down into the chair. He looked around, confused for a moment. He looked down at the book, then back at Hermione, her wand re-sheathed as if it had never left her side.

"Did I fall asleep?" he asked her. She nodded.

"I'm gonna run to the loo, Draco. I'll be back in a few minutes." He nodded, still confused, and looked back down at his pages?

She walked out the door, her head screaming that she'd just committed a serious betrayal of trust between the two of them as partners, feeling so very disappointed in herself, but she still knew that she'd had to do it, for her sake in all this- and likely, for his too.

* * *

He couldn't remember his dream, but he must have been asleep. He remembered waking up in the morning, and pulling on his clothes… he remembered coming to the library… drawing maps and being irregularly pleasant with Hermione… and then… not much. Had he fallen asleep? Something seemed off.

He always remembered his dreams- even when he'd rather not. Lately, they'd been rather nice, though… all ivory thighs and capsized intentions with his old school enemy. He'd have fallen asleep more often if only studying could deplete his energy the way other things could. But, if you were _going to do other things_, then what was the point of sleeping at all?

_The loo_, he repeated in his head. That didn't sound right to him. She never… _said_ that. That was an utterly un-Hermione Grangerish thing to say. Had he knocked more than just the wind out of her the other night? Was she… changing? Merlin, he hoped not- for a multitude of reasons.

"Hi there, Malfoy," he heard from behind him and he righted himself, looking over his shoulder. Little Cornelia Wood stood behind him and he cracked a smirk.

"How are we today, fair opponenent?"

"Just fine, actually. Your lady friend went away?"

He looked toward the front door of the library and nodded.

"Nature calls," he said. The girl's eyes narrowed a bit.

"Right. And I didn't just hear the argument you two had, at all."

His eyes widened.

"Argument?"

He knew before she even opened her mouth to respond. The fuzzy feeling of contentment, the empty thoughts, the small, blank space of memory that seemed to fade right into the next as if edited together by a professional- but not so professional that it made perfect sense. He knew it. He just couldn't believe she'd had the gall.

"Well, yeah, you both arguing about some test she has to take. I only just came in from History of Magic when I noticed you, came to say Hello, ask when you were leaving, and I heard you. Don't think I was eavesdropping."

He managed to smirk at her, but inside he was raging.

"No, I wouldn't think it," he said. She blinked at him, half smiling, but thinking on something. She leaned in toward him.

"I only tell you this because you're a friend now, Malfoy, but… I think she may have erased your memory a bit."

"She certainly did," he answered, his knuckles knocking on the table in what might have appeared to be an absent-minded way, had it not been growing steadily harder, louder, as the seconds drew on.

"I thought she was supposed to be some sort of stickler for the rules. She's kind of infamous in my house. Oh, well. Can't say I blame the girl, Malfoy. You are kind of hard to trust." She pat his arm, and she walked off back to her table, back to her studies, and out of his life.

He looked toward the door. He was never going to reach her in time. He was seeing red, and entering the part of himself that was almost totally unable to be restrained. How he had ever let his guard down around her, he couldn't remember. Had it come down under the sheets- or worse, in her apartment that night? Was it when she seemed to choose him over Longbottom? How many years had she had him? She would never have him again.

He dropped the book from his lap to the table and looked down at its pages. His brow furrowed. Book on Mind Weaving… why'd he have this? Hadn't he been drawing them maps? …Was this a Chapter on talking to _babies_?

And suddenly, everything clicked back into place: her argument with him, all morning long it seemed like… always asking about the test, always trying to get him to change his mind… and he'd asked to go with her, and he'd seen that_ light_….

He stood up so desperately fast that the chair nearly toppled to the floor. He heard the Librarian shushing him, but she might as well have been invisible for all it phased him. He had to get to her in time.

* * *

Hermione eagerly waited for Professor Mazuko's class to end. She had no idea how long Draco would remain unaware of her whereabouts. She had purposefully cast a weak spell upon him, not wanting to take away any more of him than she had to, but she knew that once he knew, he'd be right behind her… with all the work that he'd done on his mind, she really had no idea if the spell would effect him moreso or less—but she hoped it would be just the right amount of time. She knew he would never forget that she'd done it, and that he might never forgive her again, either… but she just couldn't chance the fact that he was about to cripple her on this journey, and she had to see for herself.

The students filtered out and she made her way inside. Professor Mazuko was packing up a Potions kit a student must have been borrowing. Green splatters littered the classroom floor, and somewhere in the back, a cauldron was still steaming.

"Steaming Stinksap Potions," he said to her as if to explain the mess. "No more than a prank to play on a friend. First years, you know. Sometimes we all need a break." He smiled at her, but she wasn't here for small talk.

"I need to know about this 'test' you had Draco undergo before you allowed him to know the whereabouts of the Egyptian Monks."

"You want me to put you under," he said. She swallowed.

"What will it take?"

"It will take only your cooperation, Miss Granger… and a whole lot of effort on your part. There are wizards who enter the realm of their own consciouses and never come out. Sometimes the scariest of monsters are those that live within ourselves. What will you do if you come face to face with your worst nightmare, and it's you? Could you live with yourself?"

Her hands were shaking. When Draco had said it, it sounded like a challenge, and she'd been eager to prove him wrong. When this man spoke to her, it was real, and it took every ounce of her that The Sorting Hat had deemed as Gryffindor to answer.

"I need to find out."

He smiled at her, a real, genuine smile, and she instantly saw the resemblance to Draco Malfoy. It made her knees shake to think of that smile—of what she had done to him. She imagined she'd be facing some of those demons in a moment.

"We have to be quick," she said, looking over her shoulder at the door.

"Come into the back with me, then," he said and led her to his private office.

His desk was neat, and a couch sat just beyond it, littered with stray papers and ingredients.

"Mondere," he said, and the couch cleared itself, cleaned off and ready for her. She sat down on it, and folded her damp hands in her lap. She couldn't look at them anymore. She sat on them.

"You'll have to relax," he reminded her. He went to his desk. He reached inside and found a tied knot of necklaces with little bottles on every one. He uncapped a misty blue one, and cornflower steam seemed to rise from it. He brought it to her. He placed his palm on her forehead and tipped it back against the couch.

"Since the beginning of time, Wizards have known how to access the deepest recesses of their consciousness… we thrive there. We store the memories all humans do, but within these memories, some of our deepest magical energies can be unleashed. You must go there. You must face yourself and emerge, victorious. You must find forgiveness. You must find the truth, within you, and bring it back with you when you find your way out of the room… the doors will only lead you closer… find the doors… and come home to us, Hermione Granger…" his voice was calm, enthralling, and he had brought the potion bottle to Hermione's nostrils. "Take a deep breath," he said, and she did so. "Let it out, slowly," he said. She felt herself doing it… felt herself slipping away out of those nostrils, but into herself somehow at the same time… she wasn't falling, exactly, but floating downward. She felt it in her belly. Things had become darker, deeper, and she couldn't hear Lorenzo anymore.

* * *

"You bastard," Draco said. He was standing over his uncle's shoulder, looking down at an unconscious Hermione Granger, hands folded underneath her, her head tipped back over the edge of the couch.

"She wanted this," he said. Draco glowered at him.

"Shouldn't be for you to decide," he muttered.

"Who, then? You? Just because you're in love with the girl—"

"Rubbish! Don't even go there with me. I bloody _need_ her, Enzo. Without her, I can't—"

"Always about you, Draco. She "needs her" as well. This is how she will find herself. You have yourself. Allow her the same privilege."

Draco was pacing. He couldn't do this. They'd come too far. What if she didn't bloody wake up? He'd waited _too long_. And now this new business between them, he couldn't even think of it, if it was _true… if it wasn't just a fluke…._

"Send me down with her," he said.

Enzo chuckled.

"But you're _not_ in love with her."

"Bloody do it, Enzo. If you don't… I can't let her stay down there."

"So little faith in her. Then why do you think you need her?"

Draco stared down at her.

"If you don't send me down there, I'll tell them all. Everyone. All the secrets you've had me keep. I'll ruin you."

There was a silence between the men. Enzo could tell he meant it, and he was struggling with the odds of whether or not Draco had more to lose than he by doing so.

"You would insert yourself into her mind… violate her most private thoughts? She'll never forgive you. You'll lose her all by yourself if you do this."

"I'll take the chance."

"What if I won't? He's my brother, Draco. I don't want you to lose her, either. You have to be stronger than this."

"Come off it. That's not my role in all this."

"Well muster up some strength for decency's sake then!"

Draco sat down beside her on the couch, leg bouncing nervously. He looked at her innocent face, rolled sideways on the couch, hair spread out beneath it like a tapestry. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her lips pink. He reached underneath her and retrieved her hand. His mouth had never been so dry.

"Enzo… she's never going to come out of there if you don't let me find her."

"What makes you so sure, Draco? Do you even know this girl? I mean, _really_ know her? She's capable of things you can't even imagine. I can see it in her."

"Not forgiveness. Not for herself."

"What are you talking about?"

"If she sees what I've done to her, she… she'll never forgive herself for what it'll do to her bloody friends."

Lorenzo studied him. He looked down at Hermione's unconscious body, then to Draco. He'd never seen his nephew so close to panic, before. There was such a mixture of emotions on Draco's face- in Draco's heart- that it was hard not to feel it pulling from every direction.

"What have you done to her?" he asked, but Draco could sense he already knew the answer.

"I think she's pregnant."


	13. Chapter 13: Our Own Worst Enemies

Hermione's eyes opened in a room that was not unfamiliar to her, though she hadn't stepped a toe inside in years. Pale green walls that expanded up to the cream ceiling were broken up by accents of her childhood: a shelf with stuffed elephants and giraffes… a Map of the World with every color of the rainbow to identify the indigenous people of the world—and stickers to indicate the places she wanted to travel… and two windows- one overlooking the driveway where her mother parked their station wagon… and the other, the back yard, with the double-swing set where she and Elsa would play for hours whenever Elsa's mother had to stay late at work. She sat up in the twin bed she occupied until her late teenage years when she, Harry and Ron had disappeared into the Wizarding Word to search for the Horcruxes. The lavender bedspread was warm against her, like she'd just awakened from a long nap. But… how had she gotten here?

She let the covers slip over her belly, and looked down to see a white, silken nightgown that stretched to her ankles. She couldn't remember putting it on. She couldn't remember _owning_ it….

She let her feet touch the cold, pine floors and she stood. She felt amazingly well-rested. You'd think she'd have been in a bloody coma. Suddenly, she realized she very well might have been. She couldn't remember what she'd been doing… she couldn't remember what she was _supposed _to be doing.

A slight creaking grasped for her attention and she turned to face the ivory rocking horse with the lilac mane she'd ridden until grade school, when it had… broken, she recalled, after a particularly nasty spat with Elsa over- of all the things- _The Spice Girls._ It was gently rocking forward and backward as if a breeze swayed it. But the windows, Hermione noticed, were both closed. Brows furrowed, she walked to it. Her fingers glided over the handle on the horse's temples and it stilled. But what had moved it?

_In shadows, we have walked… _

She startled, listening to the whispering voice that was singing into the air. It was neither male, nor female, but seemed to be everyone and everything at once. A chill took her spine in its fist.

_We scratch and sneer and hold you back. Now, quickly, lest this fog hold fast… _ _Show us where you'll always go to fight the fears that dwell below…._

Hermione let a breath slip out of her. Again, her eyes scanned the room. The rocking horse was rocking gently under her fingers. This _wasn't _her room, she realized. This 'fog' she was feeling… it was temporary. Someone, or something was doing this to her. And, she realized with relish… it was a riddle.

She walked to her bed and sat down. When she was young, was there a place she'd go when she was afraid? She remembered vaguely when her Great Uncle, Tesla, had fallen down drunk and belligerent in the guest room and the noise had scared her. She'd dived under the bed, back then. Quickly now, she crept down and crawled underneath. She waited… nothing.

She swore quietly under her breath and crawled back out. Not there, she discovered. She tried hard to remember… but Merlin, it all seemed so long ago… she felt as if she was struggling to remember the memories of someone else that had only been recalled to her once before. She sighed.

"The fears that dwell below," she whispered to herself. Somewhere in the room she heard a giggle between a baby's croon and a hyena ready to strike. She swallowed around the lump forming in her throat. It was tight and dry. "Well, that wouldn't be actual _fear_ then… more like… anxiety. Trepidation."

She rose and walked to look at the window. Her swings! Whenever she'd been stressed out about anything, ever, she'd look to her swings. Something about the rhythmic back and forth had always helped to her to set things straight in her head. She hustled toward the window and reached for the bottom of the frame to lift the glass. Her fingers slid up over nothingness. She looked down. The windows, she noted… could not be opened from the inside, but only from the outside.

"Well. That's not really _fair_ then, is it?" she asked the voice, which seemed to be enjoying itself. She crossed her arms over her chest and thought. Riddles, in her experience, were never unsolvable… you simply had to go at it from the right angle.

She closed her eyes and instantly, she felt as if she were swimming… the fog was increasing, she noticed. Already, her own name sounded strange in her mind. It wasn't going to be long before she had scarcely any memory of herself, or this room, at all.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. _Fighting my anxiety… where do I go?_ And then, suddenly, she understood. For many, they were defined by their loves, their hates, their fear_s_… There was only one place you could ever go to truly _face _those fears… to face _yourself_. As soon as she thought it, it appeared- the one item that had been missing from the picture. A full length, white trimmed mirror stood from floor, nearly to ceiling across from her bed. She watched herself rise off the bed and walk toward it, and slowly, she filled the frame.

_You face yourself as you must do, and only inside can you know what's true. You'll find yourself among the many, unsure, unknown, and quite unsteady… every moment you could dread is lingering inside your head, so place your hands upon their twins and relive with us your greatest sins. _

Hermione raised both hands, her nightgown tickling the tops of her feet as a light breeze took the room, suddenly. She took a final step toward the mirror, and placed her palms against it. She closed her eyes and felt the room spinning around her. She felt as if she might pass out, when suddenly, her feet were on solid ground.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. A playground, she realized. Layered bricks surrounded the sandy pit, separating it from the grassy area with swings and a large, rotating slide. Elsa's mother used to bring her here, every other Saturday, when Elsa wasn't with her dad. Looking on toward them, she saw two heads bobbing back and forth on the swing set… one has long, sleek, and straight… and the other, quite bushy, curly, and out of whack. She smiled a little. She and Elsa could have sat there for hours on Saturdays. Elsa didn't have to worry about her parents, and Hermione didn't have to worry about school… but her smile faltered. The sky was overcast, and just beyond her range of hearing, she knew that thunder was rolling over the clouds. She remembered this day quite clearly. She heard footsteps coming up behind her and turned. She gasped.

"What in _Merlin's name_ are you doing here?!"

Draco Malfoy stood beside her, hands in his pockets, looking out over the two little girls. He blinked.

"I've come to save you, Princess," he said, smirking.

* * *

Draco might have expected a more graphic scene to find her immersed in, had he not known her, as he felt he now did. Even his childhood guilt, anxieties, fears, and otherwise dark voices had been… well… _dark._ Two girls swinging merrily away… this didn't seem like a memory she'd rather keep buried. She'd probably accidentally kicked the other girl down or some such nonsense.

And then cried for hours, he reckoned.

She looked about ready to set him on fire. She would have, he expected, if her wand worked down here. He already knew it didn't. He'd tried to slay his demons the good old-fashioned way once before… no such luck.

"I don't need you to _save_ me, Draco Malfoy and I don't want you here. These memories… my _past_ is none of your concern."

He rolled his eyes. Was she _embarrassed_ about a bloody trip to the park?

"Granger, I'm not here to torment you. I'm not going to use any of this as… ammunition. I could care less about that. I just want us to _get_ where we're_ going._ All right?"

She sighed.

"I suppose it doesn't matter, does it? No way to get you out of here anyway?"

He knew that wasn't true. He knew that Enzo was working overtime—had canceled his classes for the week to focus on getting them both out… it took work…. lots and lots of work to pry someone out of this type of slumber. He swallowed.

"No way in Hell," he answered. Why did it hurt to lie to her all of a sudden? She was just the same old, bushy haired bat she'd always been. She just happened to also be the witch he was shagging. It shouldn't matter, he told himself… it _didn't_ matter that she might, of all things, be pregnant.

And it was too early, was it not, for her to even be presenting with signs? How long did it take for his little swimmers to even reach the big, ghastly goal they'd been hunting for? He couldn't remember… but two bloody _days_ seemed a little early to be seeing signs of life in another magical person. Had to have been something else that caused that blinding flash of light- some reason she didn't see it… some reason he did. It probably had nothing to do with conception, at all. It was probably just a coincidence.

But he was not about to take that chance.

He was not about to have a desecrated mission and a baby on the way—a baby that he was sure neither of them wanted, and would only get in the way. No, now was definitely not the time. They were too close. He'd come too far.

"Fine," she seemed to concede. "It doesn't matter what you think of me, anyway. In a few months, I'll never see you again."

The blow hit him harder than he expected, but already she was walking toward the two little girls, and he had no choice but to accept it, bite down, and carry on, for the sake of whatever may or may not be inside of her.

* * *

Hermione didn't want him there. She didn't need _The_ Draco Malfoy standing over her shoulder, watching her life unfold… but she didn't have a choice, and she wanted desperately to get it over with and go forward to Egypt where she hoped to get at least some of her answers before they moved on to Iraq. The only way out, was this way….

She stood behind her former self and waited for the moment she knew was coming. She saw the bandage on her left knee. She saw the crinkles in her tiny brow. She felt the jealousy, like it was fresh… Elsa had been top of their grade school classes since they had enrolled, together. Elsa's parents fought constantly, and Elsa had poured everything she was into school. Hermione cared deeply for school, and deeply for her cousin, but falling into second place time and time again had turned her love against her. She was in constant competition with Elsa, now. The others had noticed, even if Elsa had not… Hermione was being bullied. She couldn't stand it any longer. She was fit… to burst.

"Mr. Jerris give you your test back, Hermione?" she heard the young Elsa ask. Hermione closed her eyes.

"Yeah," she heard herself say- heard the second layer to her voice… angry. Defensive. "Got an A," she heard herself say. It made her sick. She hadn't gotten an A. She hadn't even gotten it back. Elsa had gotten hers back early because she'd gotten them all right, as she always did, and she was being congratulated.

"Great, isn't it? The party they're going to throw?"

Hermione watched her head snapped toward Elsa.

"Party?"

"Well, yeah! For us! Cause we're at the top! He didn't mention it?"

"Oh. Yeah, he did. _That_ party."

"Pizza and ice cream sounds like a good recess to me!"

The young Hermione's feet flew out underneath her and caught the grass to slow herself down on the swing. She came to a hault. She saw her tiny eyes close. She could practically hear her wishes.

"_Just once, just once," we heard you say, "Let me have my special day." _

She knew they were running down the grass before he arrived. Hermione felt tears in her eyes. Her hands rose to cover them. Over her shoulder, Draco watched wordlessly, brow furrowed, confusion settling in.

"It's _MY_ weekend, Jake!" Elsa's mother was screaming. He was pushing her off of him with one hand, headed toward his daughter, legal documents in his hand.

"Elsa! Baby! You're coming with me, this weekend!"

"Don't do it…" she muttered, tears escaping from under her eyelids.

"Why are you _doing this_?!" Elsa's mother, her Aunt Jen, was screaming.

"Because you've kept me as a two-weekends-a-month dad for TOO LONG, Jen! She's my daughter too! If you won't listen to reason, I'll see you in court!"

"Daddy?" Elsa asked. She was stepping off the swing now, running to her parents. The young Hermione sat on the swing and watched.

Hermione opened her eyes to watch her cousin running toward them. She held up an arm to stop her. Draco's hand caught her arm.

"Won't do any good," he said. "They can't hear you. You can't touch them. You just have to watch." She lowered it, lip trembling.

"Mommy? What's wrong?"

Jen grabbed a hold of Elsa and pulled her away from her father, Jake. Jake reached to grab for her, and Hermione heard them yelling above Elsa's questions, her little eyes growing wider. It was only when the loud snap occurred that they finally stopped. Little Elsa fell to the ground clutching her shoulder. Her mother had accidentally pulled it out of the socket. She was sobbing as her father shot accusations at Jen, running for a pay phone.

The young Hermione ran for Elsa.

"What can I do?" she asked her. Elsa only cried. Her father scooped her up.

"It's okay, honey. You'll be coming with me to live in Rurricksburg, now. Mummy can't hurt you anymore.

The vision melted away before Hermione's eyes. She ran to chase after Elsa, retreating over her father's shoulder into the distance. After that day, she remembered… Elsa moved away. The courts sided with her father. Hermione rose to the top of her grade school class… and the competition became healthy for her.

"But…" she protested, her saliva thick and her eyes watery. "I couldn't have… I mean, I _didn't_ cause that, I—"

_You asked, received, and played us well. The Harrison Family gave into spells. No amount of guilty conscious can change your past, or alter our stance. _

"I didn't even know I _was_ a witch!"

_Your love of competing only grew, that fire, deep inside of you… and never did you stop to wonder, 'what if I hadn't cursed Elsa? That fair blunder...' _

Hermione felt fresh tears rolling down her face. It had been true, then. She'd always wondered. She'd never, _ever_ competed with Elsa in grade school after that day… Elsa wasn't there to compete with… she was competing with her bullies… showing them what she was capable of now that Elsa was… she wanted to be sick.

She felt Draco's hand on her shoulder.

"S'not true, Hermione," he said, softly. She faced him.

"What?"

"Whatever it's saying to you, it's… it lies to you."

"What _is_ it?" she asked, wiping her tears away.

"It's you."

The white began to snow around herm falling over a pane of glass. She was staring out the window of her kitchen. A shaky breath escaped her as she forcer herself to regain her composure. She turned to face herself, a steaming cup of tea on the table, two poised parents sitting across from her, and her ten-year-old face looking down at a letter in her hands, the back covered in a brown, waxed seal with a giant Letter H on the front of it.

"Some kind of a joke?" she heard her father ask.

"But who would play this kind of… when we're getting ready to start choosing high schools?"

"No we're not," Hermione heard herself say. She was rolling her eyes. "_You two_ are getting ready. I understand that it's still three years off."

"Well it's never too early to _look_ Hermione—"

"It's not a joke." The letter fell to the table. "It's true. I _am_ a witch."

Her parents looked uncomfortably from each other to her.

"Honey… I know that your mother and I have always told you that you're _special_."

Hermione stood from the table. Draco was chuckling next to her. She could feel his shoulders shaking. This was certainly embarrassing.

"Shut up," she said to him. He shook his head.

"Sorry."

"Mum. Dad. I'm telling you. It's the _truth!_ I…. I've always been able to do… things."

"Things?" her mother asked, gently. Hermione rolled her eyes, watching the scene.

"Things, mom! I can… once, in the third year, I made James Henry's books fall on his head out of his locker in the hallway. He called me a brat and I was so angry, I looked at his books and they jumped out at him, and clobbered him over the head."

"I see _that_ memory didn't show up as something you felt guilty about," Draco cut in, trying desperately to hold in his laughter.

"Well, it wouldn't, of course," Hermione said through gritted teeth.

"Why do you feel guilty about _this_?"

Hermione sighed. She watched herself walk across her kitchen and place her hands on either side of the sink. Her father rose to walk after her.

"It's not that we don't believe you, pet, it's that we… we're just not sure… someone is playing a _trick_ on you, Hermione. You've got to see that—"

Hermione's hands were shaking—both in her current form, and her past self. She watched herself grab hold of a plate from the drying dish rack and throw it hard against the adjoining wall.

"Stop making excuses for me!" She shouted. Her parents stared at her, confused, startled, unsure of what to say.

"If I was Elsa—"

"Honey this isn't about—"

"You FAVOR her!"

Hermione looked down, ashamed of watching herself, for her outburst. She sighed. "Go on, say it."

"We can all be arses. But it doesn't mean you were wrong. Did they favor Elsa?"

Hermione didn't answer him.

"Elsa is the cousin, yes?"

"Yes."

"Maybe they did. My parents only had me. My father's father favored Enzo. Everyone has a favorite."

There was a knock at the door. Hermione saw her mother sweep two tears off her cheeks with her palm, and it hit her right in her core the same way it had when she'd seen it then… she'd made her mother cry. It was the first- and only- time… it was part of why she had obliviated their memories… she didn't ever want to see her mother cry, again... even watching her leave.

A knock sounded at the door. A member of the Ministry of Magic was entering to speak with her parents… and then, the room began to fade away once more.

_Her tears will soak your soul forever, did she forgive you? Never, never…. You took all of her love for granted, as you raved and sourly ranted, but what about the one you left behind? What did she have still to find?_

The scene settled before her and a hand flew over Hermione's mouth. She reached for Draco, and he went to pull her hand. She snatched it away and used it to push him backward.

* * *

"Walk away," she warned him. He looked at her, confused.

"Why—"

"I don't want you to see this."

"Hermione, it's not going to—"

"LEAVE!" There was fire in her eyes, and _fear_ he realized. Her lips were shaking. Her eyes were wide.

He couldn't help but to feel remorse for her. He understood, completely. In her place, he'd never have wanted her to see what he had to be afraid of, or even ashamed of. He walked to the far wall that had finally formed. He walked through it… and came out the other side, on the opposite side of her.

"I can't leave, Hermione. I'm stuck here just like you are."

"Muffliato!" she yelled at the scene, which Draco began to finally take in. She was getting desperate. She was willing to try anything. He was almost willing to pretend for her that she couldn't hear Hermione sitting in a chair, by herself, in an empty room… and drinking about a liter of rum. But he could hear her swallowing, and clearly see the door opening. Hermione got down on the ground, crouched, and let her arms circle her legs.

"I don't want you here," she was repeating under her breath.

One of the people Draco had _not_ expected to see walked through the door did just that: Ron Weasley was laughing, red in the face, and saying goodnight to someone. The pieces began to fall into place for Draco. Was he having an affair?

Ron turned and looked quietly at Hermione. He seemed happy to see her.

"'Mione, what are you… are you drinking? …_Alone?_"

Hermione rose from the armchair she was sitting in, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. She was swaying slightly, pouring herself another drink.

"Did you have fun… Ronald?"

"Of course I had fun! We were waiting for you to come out with us—"

"I don't need to come out with you. Wouldn't have mattered if I did. You don't even see it, do you? You don't even know how thick you are? You can't even _see_ how unhappy we are?"

The air in the room had gone cold. Draco too wished that she could have silenced the scene before him. He was not supposed to see this. No one was supposed to see this. He was almost regretting his decision to follow her down her. He closed his eyes, tried not to hear the two of them.

"But… we… unhappy?" he heard Ron ask. He almost felt sorry for the bloke… even if he was a blithering idiot.

"She's _everything_, Ron. She always has been. She's just… a _muggle. _And she can still have any man she wants… even my wizard fiancé. And you… you just fall right all over her."

Ron looked abashed, and yet, ashamed. He couldn't disagree with her. His frustration quickly turned to anger and he looked up to her.

"Don't put this on me, Hermione. If you're unhappy, you should have said something. It was just DRINKS with her. You were supposed to be there too! I just bloody met her tonight. There wasn't anything improper about it—"

"Average, Ronald. You're just… _average._"

It was the worst thing she could have said to him. Even Draco knew it.

"I'm… what?"

"You're so… bloody _average_… you can't even tell… when you're sodding in _love_ with a girl, can you? Like a bloody movie. Someone's gotta _tell you_ about it… well here. Let me _tell you_ about it. You love her. She loves you. And I'm just the witch who's going to… set you free, aren't I?"

She began to walk away from him. He looked as if he might start crying, he was so red. Draco tried will all his effort to study his shoes.

"You know something, Hermione? I'm _sorry_. I'm SORRY that I've never been good enough for you… and I always knew it. I KNEW you'd rather be with Harry, underneath it all."

"Bollocks. This has nothing to do with him."

"It does, though, doesn't it? I mean, you said it yourself! I'm AVERAGE. I'm more suited to be with YOUR MUGGLE COUSIN than with you! You're too sodding HIGH ABOVE ME! What was I _ever_ thinking, having you _lower_ yourself to be with an idiot like me?"

He had a point, Draco thought, in spite of himself. He tried to shake off his sarcasm… but he couldn't help it. He never liked that kid.

"I'm doing you a favor, Ron."

"Make it go away," Draco heard from the corner. Hermione was sobbing, shaking into her knees. She'd been drunken, yes, but not wrong, Draco thought. This wasn't anything to be ashamed of. Couples fight. He was in love with her bloody cousin! The same cousin she'd spent years having a sibling rivalry with, despite them not being blood sisters. He got it. It happened. But, he knew… this kid had been her best friend. He imagined that things between them were probably "okay" now… but not _great_. He wondered if this 'Elsa' and him were still together. He hoped so. Hermione deserved better than to be let off for a fling.

And suddenly, the room around them began to fade. Draco looked at her. She wasn't moving. He walked toward her.

"Don't touch me," she said. Her face was splotchy, and tears were staining her cheeks and lips. She wiped them away, and into her hair. She stood up.

"I'll never forgive you for this," she said, turning her back to him. He bit his bottom lip, watching her, understanding, but unable to tell her why he'd had no choice. He came to her, his arms out, and circled her with them. He felt her tense at first, pulling away, before relaxing, letting it go, and letting it all out.

"I loved him," she said, letting the tears fall.

"I know," he said.

"But not… not the way… she… Elsa, and him, they… they deserved to be together, they… they're so _happy, I…_"

"No one is perfect, Hermione. You can't hate yourself for being angry."

"He'll never forgive me for the things I said…"

"Maybe not. Because he _believes them._"

She was sobbing. The room was already beginning to fall down around them. It was breaking her, he realized. He turned her around, pulled her to him.

"Hermione, listen to me. This is the game. This is how it's designed. It wants you to think you're worthless, spineless, pitiful. It's _yourself_ telling you that you can't succeed. You step through the mirror, and into yourself, and… you're your own worst critic, Hermione. That's all this is. You have to pull through."

"It's right, I just—"

"It's NOT right. Three moments, Hermione, where you can't stand yourself? THREE? And two of them took place when you were a child! Do you know how horrible most people truly are? Most people have THOUSANDS of moments as children to weed through, and DOZENS upon dozens as adults. This is bollocks and you know it. Allow yourself some sodding humanity, for once. That's your problem. You're still COMPETING. Not with Elsa… with _yourself_."

* * *

There was cackling, then, as Draco spoke. She could hear it, laughing at her, but she knew he was right. He was _right_ about her…. That's what this was, it was all just a competition! She was mocking herself for all the moments she most hated about herself; everything that revealed that her true character wasn't spotless.

The room was creating itself around her. She was back, at Hogwarts, and in… in the room of Requirement.

"Are we… am I… awake?"

"No," Draco said, looking around. "We're in Enzo's office."

"But, I don't…" she looked toward the bed that had formed in the center of the room, and she and Draco were upon it, wrapped around each other, rolling and gasping and creating a new kind of wonderful she hadn't expected to see down here.

"But… I'm not… I mean, I don't…"

She felt him smirking before she saw it.

"She regrets wishing her know-it-all cousin was knocked down a peg for just a moment, but not a roll in the sack with yours truly. I think I will log that one away for a rainy day."

"I guess I'm just… I'm _confused, _because… I mean, it was just sex."

"I think we rather make a cute couple, yeah?"

"Oh Merlin, don't_ watch_, you egotistical prat."

"Why not? Seen it already!" She sighed, rolling her eyes and turned away.

"You're ridiculous."

"No, I'm _horny._"

She shook her head, but a laugh escaped her. She was _not_. The day had been far too trying… if it had been a day. She wasn't sure, really. Time, she imagined, was different down here.

That's when she saw it. She looked up, as a blinding light took over her. She felt warm, protected, and utterly… refreshed. The light seemed to be coming from _herself_. She walked toward it.

Draco was hot on her heels.

"You see it?" she asked him. She heard him swallow. She looked to him but he said nothing.

"What is it?" she asked. "Did this happen to you too?"

_Far away and deep inside, it lurks to grows to turn your hate to pride. Connected to a greater purpose, though you may never learn to share trust, you have only just begun to gaze upon the morning sun. _

"The sun?" Hermione asked. Draco's head snapped to her.

"The what?"

"The morning sun, it said…" he seemed to relax a bit. "It said… Merlin." It clicked for her. He looked terrified. It hadn't she grasped happened to him, but she understood why not… it was totally _her own_. This had always been her mission, she felt, and her palms folded over her belly. A smile took her face.

* * *

Draco opened his eyes, heavy, laden, and painful to do, for the second time in his life. He took a deep breath, his lungs only stinging a little from the force. _Hasn't been as long as it was for me, then_ he reckoned. He looked over at Hermione. Her eyes were opening as well.

Footsteps could be heard from the doorway and Enzo entered. He looked to each of their faces, Draco guessed to read what had been discovered. He knew it was going to show itself in there, he bloody well knew it. He'd been right. And what was worse… it revealed itself to _her,_ and he saw her happiness. He was in for it now, all right. He was to be tied with… he couldn't think on it. She was never going to go with him, now. Her memories hadn't broken her—though they may have had he not been there to talk sense into her at the very end—but instead, this creature inside her was going to. He sighed. He looked at Enzo, and gently shook his head. Enzo sighed.

Hermione sat up.

"Should it _hurt_?" she asked. Draco nodded without looking at her.

"It always does. You've been asleep for….?" He looked to Enzo for confirmation.

"Six weeks," Enzo said. "Quite fast, actually. Must have helped to go together."

"Six weeks," Hermione said. She sniffed. "I feel… bad."

"Me too," Draco said.

"It was worth it," she said. She looked around. "I do feel different… somehow… more complete." Draco flushed. _Complete_? She felt COMPLETE with his child inside of her? He felt like he was going to _die_ and she felt completed. He was going to be sick.

"You saw it, right, Draco?" she asked, her hands on her stomach once more. He nodded, wincing, and looking away.

"I did," he said. "I reckon… we need to talk about it, then," he said.

"What's to talk about?" she asked. He stared at her. Was she _daft?_ "Part of me, I think… needed to see that… the magic, in me."

"The…" he could barely believe his ears. "The magic, in you?"

She stood up, shaking her hair over her shoulders. "Merlin, I need to eat. Feels like it's been… well, probably six weeks, yeah? Let's hit the Hall before we leave." She turned to Enzo. "Is McGonagall livid that we're still here?"

"Doesn't know," he said, tiptoeing around the situation, afraid to overstep his bounds. He revealed a basket of food to her. "I put this here so you two could eat before you split. Your bags are packed and in my office."

"Great," she said, smiling, turning to Draco. "I still don't forgive you. I could have done it by myself. I'm just starving… and eager to get going, of course. You have the map, right?"

He was… in shock.

"We're going to Egypt? But… the "magic" in you…?"

"Yes, well, I have to admit, I expected it to be in the _brain_, but, I suppose… the fact that it's at my core is really just… more evidence of a _soul_ I suppose, don't you think?" she was stuffing bread into her mouth. He felt like he ought to be joining her… but he was having a bit of a mental breakdown.

"So, that's what that was?" Her brow crooked as she pulled an apple out of the basket.

"What else would it have been? Come on, eat. We need to go!"

It occurred to him suddenly, that this was the moment where he could be a 'man.' He could _tell _Hermione Granger that she was wrong. He could show her the research. He could sabotage his own mission. He could… _protect_the child which was undoubtedly inside of Hermione Granger. _Glowing_, is what they said about pregnant women… she was shining, euphoric, and beautiful. He knew exactly what he was supposed to do… what any man would do in his place…

"I'll eat on the way. Let's just go," he heard himself say… and just a little part of him tried desperately to kick him in the bloody head.


	14. Chapter 14: Grey Matter

Hermione flushed the toilet and caught her breath. She coughed and wiped the drool from her cheek.

"Third time this morning, yeah?" she heard from behind her. She let the air fill her lungs- cold, sweet February air, in through her nose and out of her mouth. She watched the toilet refill with water. She tried not to think about the pipes her vomit was circling through, being carried away into the sewer system. She closed her eyes. It _was_ the third time this morning, and at least the fifteenth time this week.

"You _might have told me_… that the test would cause this type of a reaction."

Draco slid off her kitchen counter and poised himself in the bathroom doorway. He thought for a moment.

"It didn't happen to me," he said.

"Then why is it happening to me?"

She flushed the toilet again, half to hear it getting sucked down into the pipes, and half to do something other than think about the sweat that was beading up on her forehead and trickling down toward her eyes. She wiped them away with her wrist and leaned her head against her forearm.

"I don't know," he finally said. She sighed and straightened, feeling her stomach tighten as she did.

"Then you have no idea how long it's going to last?"

He blinked at her; looked away. "I could make you an Anti-Nausea Draught?"

After thinking for a moment, she nodded.

"Go sit," he said to her. She walked toward the couch, its cold, faded surface looking every bit as unappealing to her as one of Hagrid's infamous twice-cooked stews. She heard her stomach gurgle, and covered it with her hand. She looked down. She felt like she had to have lost at least five pounds. In a normal body, she'd have loved it… but weeks of slaving over work had already caused her to be slightly underweight, and she wasn't enjoying the anti-feminine feeling her body was starting to have… and even though the man she'd been sharing her life, and her bed, with for the last few weeks wasn't the first thing on her list of concerns… he certainly wasn't the last. She didn't want to be ugly... not when she'd just started to feel something like sexy.

"I can use the ingredients in your office?" she heard him call.

"Of course," she answered weakly, turning as she did and heading for the bedroom.

"It'll only take a few minutes. I know a spell that will speed the cooking process."

"Okay," she said, only slightly above a whisper. She was aware he hadn't heard her, but her bed was so inviting, that suddenly she only had eyes for it. His bag was neatly packed and sitting on the edge of her bed. Her suitcase was open, clothes spilling out of it. She picked his up by the double handles and placed it on the ground, before pushing her own onto the floor. She felt horrible that she was delaying their trip by being unable to focus, but for the moment, it was all she could do to _function_ let alone plan anything. She unzipped her jeans and let them fall to the floor. She climbed beneath the sheets and let the cold feeling wash over her feet, calves, thighs, and back. She took in a sharp breath and felt it cool her hot lungs. She shivered a little as her body adjusted, and before she knew it, she felt herself slipping away.

* * *

He stood over her desk with the geranium root in one hand, and the essence of lavender marjoram in the other. Everything had been added to the potion, but one final ingredient… the notion of each of the two potions he could create at this point was the same: it was for the baby, not for Hermione. One would calm it down, he knew, making her nights easier, making her mornings more fun, and making their trip date come ever sooner… but the other, he knew, would do something quite different… she would hurt for a little… she would cramp, and she would cry, and then she would get her period, and all of it would be over, and she would chalk it all up to just a bad cycle after a bad reaction to the potion that had put her under… and she'd have never, ever known that a little piece of Draco Malfoy had taken root inside of her and started to grow… he could save her entirely from the burden of having to make this difficult decision with just one piece of a plant.

He put each item down, placed his palms on the desk and leaned down, exhaling meaningfully. It shouldn't have _been_ a difficult decision, especially for him. Looking out for himself was never something he'd needed help with… it was practically the most powerful quality in a Slytherin. Apart from the Pureblood status, which no longer gave him much satisfaction, his self-preservation was one of the only tools he had on this mission. What was growing inside Hermione Granger was not a _blessing_. He felt no deep-rooted connection to it, and it wasn't a matter of any sort of biological clock ticking away. All it was, was a direct threat against said sense of self-preservation… if it continued to exist, her judgment would cloud, his own defenses would need to cover both of them… all _three_ of them… he'd be spread too thinly, and they would fail. She was sharp, but not sharp enough to think about this and _that._ No one would be.

He picked up the lavender… it would make a blue-violet potion… it would sparkle and steam and keep her asleep, and soothed for a couple of weeks—long enough for it all to pass, and maybe… _maybe_ they could get through Egypt and then even Iraq and complete this damn mission in the four-five weeks it would take for her to figure it out… when she realized she was about to miss not the first, but the _second_ of her cycles. She would put it together; he made no mistake about that. She was Hermione Granger. She was going to figure it out.

He placed it down… and picked up the geranium. _It would be over_, he told himself. Hell, he could keep _sleeping with her_, even! He felt a pang in his chest. _Oh, now it feels shitty just to think about her as an object? Great. I really am losing it. It's the stress_.

He placed down the geranium root. He hung back his head, his hands over his face and shuddered out a deep sigh.

Men were not meant to be the ones to make this decision.

* * *

Hermione felt herself being gently shaken out of her slumber. When she opened her eyes, she felt a sharp pain between her eyebrows and she winced. She covered it with her hand.

"You okay?"

"Yeah… headache…"

He paused for a moment. She felt his fingers on top of hers. She let her hand fall away and with his index and middle finger and pressed down on the inner corners of her eyebrows. The pain fell away. She sighed.

"How… did you…"

"It's a sinus headache, probably from the nausea. It can cause swelling if you get a little… up the wrong way. Maybe you even picked up some sort of a bug…." He trailed off. She opened her eyes. He wasn't looking at her.

"I made you the potion," he said. He handed it to her.

"Wow, you were right. You did put a rush on it. Anti-Nausea Spells are usually—"

"Overnight, I know. I've been making them for years… used to take them on the train before school. I'm kind of an expert." He smirked at her. She smirked back.

"Well I could certainly use your expertise. I'm a little tired of finding myself at the bottom of the toilet bowl."

"I can only imagine." He held out a solid glass from her cabinet toward her. She eyed it.

"Is it one of the gross ones with the floating fluff in it?"

"No, it's just teeming with delicious ice cream and candy floss." His sarcasm didn't escape her, but her stomach did a flip flop anyway. She made a face, but reached out for it anyway.

He handed it to her, staring at the goblet a little longer than she would have thought he did. Did he… care if she felt better? Probably just eager to get on the road. But then, she thought… if he was vomiting for days, she _might_ care. She wasn't sure. He turned to walk away from her.

"Draco…" she called. He turned toward her. She placed the goblet down on the bedside table. "I… don't need it right now," she said. She swung her legs over the side of the bed carefully. She looked up at him.

"You look tired," he said. He glanced at the cup. "You should take that while it's fresh."

"I will," she said. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. How did one… ask for someone's attention? How did people express loneliness? How was she supposed to reach out to this man, ask him to come and be with her for a little while? Why did she feel so vulnerable around him. "But first… can we talk?"

He blinked, stepped back into the room and leaned against the door frame. Merlin, he was sexy. There was just no denying that any longer, no matter how might want to.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I dunno… the weather."

"The… weather?"

"…Bit cold…"

He pursed his lips, brows furrowed. "I think there's a chance we've damaged your brain, Granger."

"Tell me one of your memories," she said. He rolled his eyes.

"Let's _not_ talk about me, right now."

"Why not? We went on a march through _my_ guilty headspace—"

"Three instances of them!"

"I don't know _any_ of yours."

"Of course you do—"

"No, I—"

"You were _there_ for a great many of them, not the least of them watching you being tortured by my _dear_ auntie."

The air between them got thick. Hermione looked away, down at the floor. She crossed her toes like she'd suddenly gone pigeon-toed.

She heard him walking toward her. He stood before her, then dropped down and placed his hands on her knees. He looked up into her eyes.

"There's no easy way for me to talk to you about this. I was raised by monsters. I _am_ a monster… I've just learned to be something less than pure evil. Talking about even the smallest of my flaws with someone like you makes them seem that much bigger because… you're bloody well _perfect_, Granger. Only white light can make the darkness blacker."

She smiled, looking down again.

"And I'm the white light?"

"And together, we're the sodding _grey matter._"

Her smile grew. She met his eyes. "There's always a silver lining."

He rolled his eyes. "Not always. But in our case… I can think of one."

He pushed her backward on the bed, climbed on top of her. She was already pulling her panties down. He was already tossing his shirt over his head. Their lips met, and her arms folded around his neck carelessly. She cupped his shoulders. His fingers tangled in his hair. Her legs wrapped around his waist. His jeans unzipped and fell away. He was back inside of her, back where he belonged and her body was humming.

"Draco…" he shushed her, kissed her, was driving her crazy, thrusting more deeply inside of her all the time.

"Hermione?" their was a call from the other room. The front door slammed. They froze. Their eyes locked.

"…_Potter_?" he whispered to her. His cock was pulsing inside her. She was pink, lips flushed, cheeks ruddy, hair a wild mess. Footsteps were approaching. The bedroom door was wide open.

"The closet," she whispered. She thought she'd have to push him off, but he was out of her and out of sight with all his clothes and his suitcase in a flash. Hermione pulled her shirt down around her midriff, snatched her panties from the floor and pushed both legs into them. Harry approached her bedroom door just as she pulled the blanket up her body and rolled over onto her side, eyes closed.

"Oh, Hermione…" he stopped, let his voice fall to a whisper. She sighed, rubbed her eyes as if just waking. She sat up a little, letting the sheet fall down around her waist.

"Harry!" she said, sleepily. He smiled at her.

"Hadn't heard from you in a long time, 'Mione. I was worried, you—"

"I'm so sorry, Harry. Dra- Malfoy and I ended up staying at Hogwarts a lot longer than we had planned, and then I fell down with this nasty flu, and so I've been keeping inside for the most part—"

"You? Sick? What's the matter?" he stepped into the room, walked over to her. He had a paper bag in one hand and the back of his other hand was against her forehead. She beamed at him.

"I'm fine," she assured him.

"You feel warm," he argued. She could have sworn she heard a snicker from the closet. She glared in its general direction. Harry seemed not to have heard it.

"Are you on anything?"

"Oh, just something for nausea, that's all," she said, gesturing to the potion. He looked to it, then back to her. She nodded toward his paper bag.

"What have you got?" He rolled his eyes.

"Canned raviolis." Her face wrinkled.

"Because?"

"Because Ginny is beside herself," he said. Hermione giggled.

"Sorry to hear that," she said. He shrugged.

"Honestly, it's kind of funny. Leaves me to eat pizza and butter beer all night."

"Yum yum," she said sarcastically. He laughed.

"Sorry, the nausea," he said. She nodded.

"So, how'd it go?" he asked. Her brows went up. "You know, the trip… with Malfoy."

He was going to want details, she knew. And she also knew that under other circumstances, she'd have told him just what a prat Malfoy had been, the first few days, and she'd have glossed over the part where they fell into each other's arms, each other's beds, and each other's… parts.

"It was… enlightening. Hagrid was sick, but Neville helped him get better. We did research—"

"_You_ did research, or _we_ did research?"

She gave him a pointed stare. "_We _did research… eventually."

"Neville called," Harry said. Hermione froze. Harry's eyes didn't leave her.

"Where were you two for the other six weeks?"

* * *

Draco couldn't believe she had so many shoes in here… he'd only ever seen her wear that one pair! One of them was definitely threaten to enter his colon. That's when he heard her:

_Where were we for six weeks?_

_You bloody KNOW where we were for six weeks. Why do you have so many shoes?! Get him out of here! I'm not done with you—_

_You're the best damn liar I know. He'll know I'm full of it if I try. Speak through me._

_Speak WHAT?!_

_I'll tell you the incantation, and you need to think it, and picure me saying what you're thinking_

Draco Malfoy's face broke into a large smile. From behind the closed door he pictured the horrified look on her face.

_Keep in mind I can stop you AT ANY TIME, Malfoy. Don't be a horror, or I'll shut it down, tell him you broke in in your knickers, and let him jinx you out of here. Your wand is in the kitchen. He's an Auror. Wanna have a go of it anyway? I mean, it 'is' magical all by itself, right?_

_Alright, alright… what's the incantation?_

_"Audicitia"_

…_Audicitia_

* * *

Hermione was facing Harry, focusing all her energy on remaining calm… it was the only way the spell was going to work. She had to relax all the muscles of her neck and jaw. She felt her head beginnig to slip when he finally cast the spell. Her neck went rigid, facing Harry directly.

"Malfoy's uncle works at Hogwarts… he gave us a list of confidential names of Wizards we needed to interview who would be relevant to our mission, so… we had to fly under the radar for a while. I'm sorry I didn't tell you… you're my best friend… and also a wonderful Quidditch player." Hermione snapped her neck back, taking control of the situation. Harry's head was cocked, studying her. She cleared her throat.

"Sorry about that. Been a bit… off... since the flu bug."

"Right..."

"Right."

He looked around her room.

"So these… _wizards_… they weren't dangerous were they?"

"No, just very old, and very confidential." He didn't like that answer, she could tell. Was it going to be enough?"

"I… understand your position," he finally said. She breathed a sigh of relief. He looked her over once more.

"I should go, let you rest… get my second kid this canned garbage. Can I do anything for you?"

She shook her head. "I think I just need to drink that and get some sleep."

He nodded. He sighed and stood up. He looked down into her glass. His brow furrowed. He glanced at Hermione. He paused, thinking. She snuggled back down into the covers.

"What's the matter?" she asked him.

He opened his mouth, paused, and closed it. He cleared his throat.

"How was Neville, when you saw him? I forgot to ask you."

"I thought you spoke to him."

"I did, but… he didn't mention anything… about seeing you. Just said you'd been MIA for a few weeks. Been a long time since I've seen him. I hear he's doing well."

"He is," Hermione said, studying him for a moment.

"Heard he got cute," Harry said. She rolled her eyes.

"What are you, a Witch Weekly reader? Do I look 14?"

"Come on. Loads of girls are saying it. I hear even his _students_ have crushes on him now—"

"Harry, please. It's _Neville._ But if your girlish fantasies cannot be put to rest, if you truly must know, then _yes..._. He did get cuter."

Harry cracked a wide smile. He nodded, looked down at his shoes, and gathered his paper bag.

"Call me in the coming weeks if you need anything, Hermione. I mean it. I know, I know… Ginny, but… there's room in my heart to nurse you both back to health if you need me." He winked at her. She shoved him away with her foot.

"Go home to your wife and babies."

"Count on it." He kissed her cheek and sauntered out.

"Oh, and Hermione," he said from the doorway. She looked up. "Congratulations… on surviving those seven weeks." She laughed.

"Thanks. I'll let you know when I survive the rest of the journey." He nodded.

"I think it'll be pretty obvious," he said. He turned then and left. She heard the front door shut behind him. And then Draco Malfoy stepped out of her closet fully dressed and white as a sheet.

* * *

He knew, he realized. Potter knew. He had babies, a wife, and a pregnant one at that. He'd seen that _look_ she had, before. And worse? He thought LONGBOTTOM was the lucky father of the creature. He could bloody barf. Potter knew. He was going to tell them all. He had to get them out. Tonight. He cleared his throat.

"Listen," he said. She was rapt at his attention, but clearly confused. "We need to leave in the morning. They're going to… we can't be seen together like this."

"I agree."

"And if I have to hear you call Longbottom _cute_ again, I think I'll need you to start making ME the potions." She rolled her eyes.

"Jealousy is a horrid color on you."

"I'm a Slytherin. Green is my everything." She giggled.

"You need to drink that potion. I'm… I should sleep on the couch tonight. You're going to need to rest if we want you at full punning potential with me on this journey."

She smiled. She reached for the glass and he headed for the doorway.

"Isn't it supposed to be clear?"

He froze, looking out, not at her. Nothing ever slipped by her.

"Usually, yes… the speeding spell changes the color."

"Oh," she said. He swallowed. He waited. Her heard her raised it to her lips and suck it down. His heart was pounding.

"Goodnight," he managed to say in an even voice.

He stepped out and shut her bedroom door behind him. He leaned against it for a moment, the hard wood at his back, against his skull. He shut his eyes and just… breathed. He was a bloody coward.

Without thinking, he stepped away, and headed for her bathroom. He entered, closed the door, and sat down on the edge of her bathtub. He climbed inside after a moment, studying his hands, and for the first time in he didn't know _how_ long… Draco Malfoy cried.

* * *

Hermione lay back against her pillows feeling satisfied, despite the clear lack of satisfaction in the night's events. She felt the purple potion circling her system and immediately, the numbness spread from her core, upward and out until it filled her with calm and ease. The nausea was gone. The headaches had faded away. And all she could think of as she waved her wand and muttered "Pack!" to the items in her room, throwing themselves into her suitcase, was how on earth he had gotten it to smell of lavender….


	15. Chapter 15: Broomsticks and Bed Knobs

Some graphic sexy bits at the end... skip it if you want to! I wouldn't. Too fun!

* * *

She checked her watch again. Again. Again—she was going to smack herself. She forced her hand back down by her side next to her and Draco's bags. It was just shy of 5AM and she was shivering.

Thank goodness the potion he'd made her had definitely done the trick. She'd managed to sleep for a full ten hours before she woke up to get a glass of water and had seen his note up on her refrigerator (which he had magicked on, since he clearly was not about to get interested in the muggle concept of 'magnets') which told her that he had gone home to grab a few extra things and his broomstick and that the safest course of action was for them to fly.

She was not excited about this.

She hadn't been on a broomstick in a _very_ long time for a _very_ long list of reasons… the very least of which was her nausea. There weren't enough potions in the entire world to make her WANT to get back on one, no matter how "safe" of a rider he thought he was—and she knew first hand that it wasn't even true. She'd watched the bugger fall off in Quidditch!

She sighed. Something must be holding him up.

She leaned against the handle of her suitcase. Then, she saw it. It was dropping low like a crow circling for its breakfast. He descended upon the deserted London street corner like he wasn't worried about a human in sight. He landed, stepped off, and pushed his hair out of his face. He wore a crisp leather jacket and thick gloves on his hands. He eyed her.

"Is that the warmest coat you have?"

"It's been charmed against the cold, don't worry."

"Right." He had a lightweight bag strapped over his shoulder. "Here, hand me your stuff." She did. He laid it flat on the ground and pointed his wand at it.

"Reducio." It shrunk to fit in the palm of his hand and he lifted it, placed it in his shoulder bag and zipped it back up.

"In the middle of the _street_?" she asked him, rolling her eyes. "I understand showing off for a lady, but not for all of her muggle neighbors."

He smiled that genuine smile of his that made her weak in the knees. She blushed and looked away.

"What?" she asked him.

"You knew I was showing off; didn't try to play it off like it was some kind of game of mine- some trick I was playing. I like it."

She rolled her eyes. "Doesn't change the fact of the matter that we may not be the only two people in the bloody _world_, Malfoy. Better safe than sorry."

"Actually, you're wrong about that."

"We're _not_ the only people in the world?"

"As far as any nearby muggles are concerned, we are. Or at least, I am. You, they can still see. He wound his wand around her starting at her head and moving it around her neck and shoulders like a coiled rope.

"Abscondite Patet!" White light sprinkled out of the wand tip and fell around her body. She didn't feel a thing—maybe a slight cooling sensation, but she couldn't accurately read that with the wintery air blowing her hair off her neck.

"Disillusionment charm?"

"Only toward muggles. It's on the broomstick as well. They won't see us flying overhead, which means we won't have to fly so high that you pass out and fall off."

Her brow furrowed and she felt more warmth creeping into her cheeks discoloring her neck.

"You… remembered I don't like flying?"

He paused. "You must have mentioned—"

"I didn't."

"Surely you—"

"Nope."

"Well. Obviously I'm simply recalling the humorous event of you nearly passing out when you finally managed to hover your broomstick—on maybe the tenth week of flying lessons—a mere foot off the ground and then requiring a trip to the library for the rest of the session?"

She looked away.

"…Too much?" he asked. He was smirking again, she realized. She shrugged it off.

"Not at all. But now you _are_ playing games with me." She stretched onto tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek.

"Don't know why you held onto that memory," she said, inches from him, "but thanks."

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting back and forth between hers. He slowly dropped his head as if to kiss her… seconds passed… he cleared his throat, pulling back, scratching the back of his neck. She sighed.

"We should get going."

"Right," she said.

He mounted the broom and she walked toward it, slinging her leg over it behind him.

"Kinda wish you _could_ fly. This would be much more interesting if you were in front."

She chuckled in spite of herself.

"He's afraid to honestly kiss me, but has no problem having sex with me in midair."

"I am truly an individual."

"Of course you are, dear."

He kicked off, and they flew into the dawn.

* * *

Draco was bloody tired. It had been a long night of no sleep, and it was going to be an even longer flight into Egypt… he deduced it would have been much faster to take one of those muggle air-o-planes, but aside from the time it would have taken to get his hands on muggle money, figure out how to buy a muggle plane ticket, and then the horrifying nature of actually boarding a muggle plane, and being stuck with them all in a hot, sweaty, small space for almost five hours… ultimately, he would rather walk… until he reached the Mediterranean sea, that is, when he would, of course, swim.

Plus, now he got the outstanding pleasure of Hermione Granger sleeping peacefully against his back. Small side effect of the anti-nausea potion for the fetus: for the next six weeks, she'd sleep like the dead whenever the ugly feelings reared their little heads. Small price for him to pay, however, to have her thinking rationally and pain free even if it meant she slept more often. When she was awake, she'd be lucid and every bit as bright as she'd ever been.

Perhaps even moreso, he figured. His traipsing behind her during her test of self may have numbed some of the less painful memories from surfacing and forced the big ones to show themselves early, but they must have strengthened her. She was connected to him now in ways she hadn't been before—and confident. He was enjoying the confidence. Always had. It was one of her only bearable traits that he could recall from school.

That and her passion. But he didn't want to think about that right now. Thoughts like that would become very sore up against a hard broomstick for another eight hours.

The 12 hour trip was starting to wear on him and it had only been four hours. He could tell he was probably going to need to stop, stretch his legs, and probably get something to eat… and if he understood biology correctly, Hermione was going to need to relieve herself and eat about her weight in food- and have absolutely _no_ idea why. For that, they'd need to find wizards because he hadn't had the time to get any real muggle money and he wagered that she may not have brought any either, but for all he knew, she had. She was like a bloody 'Boy Scout of America' in that way: always buggering prepared.

Still though, he'd really rather see some wizards. Ordering from muggles that couldn't _see_ them seemed a little severe. He wasn't sure of the counter-spell for the disillusionment charm. No one really was when it came to these things… loads of times they just _wore off_ after a certain amount of time—usually years. He would find a counter spell before then if he needed to… but where they were going, they didn't need for muggles to see them. They wouldn't be seeing any muggles, themselves.

So a Wizarding restaurant it was going to have to be, then. He knew of a good one in Italy. As soon as they crossed France, he'd be able to land them, climb down, and find it. He still had a few more hours to go.

"Why aren't we apparating?"

He'd had no idea she'd woken until she spoke.

"What?"

"Apparating. We were going to apparate as close to Egypt as we could before we—"

"Is my flying bothering you?"

She paused. "Why don't you want to answer me?"

"I changed my mind because I know these people and they're tapped into magicks beyond the simple ministry. I didn't want to take the chance that they'd hide their location from us if they knew we were coming. The kings summoned us, so it makes sense to think they might be expecting us. I don't want to give them any extra reason to see us coming."

She seemed to accept his answer and resettled against him.

"I hate flying," she said, finally. He sighed.

"We can stop, soon. You want something to eat?"

"How did you know? I could eat an entire city. Which, judging by the view… oh I should not have looked down."

"Nauseated?"

"No, shockingly. What you gave me was certainly some stuff."

"And don't you forget it." She rolled her eyes.

* * *

They landed very close to the border between Italy and France. Hermione spoke French, but not Italian, so she'd asked him to pull off early so she could talk to the wizards and get them something they found edible- despite his plea that even though he didn't speak Italian, a busty witch in Italy had given his father and him "a hell of a deal" a few years back. She was starving out of her mind. Her body had finally realized how little she'd been giving it, it seemed, and now she had to give it double the love. It was definitely for her own good, though. She didn't want to lose any more weight.

"So," he said, folding the map and putting it back in his pocket. "I did the locator spell and it seems like we've got two reputable restaurants in the area. One down that street, and the other around the block. Funny how they're so close to one another… bit random."

"Not really," she said. "Lots of wizarding communities settle into one area so they can raise their kids together, see their friends, and establish businesses. They're probably just cute little "Mom and Pop" places."

"That how Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade came to be?"

"Sort of. Diagon Alley was built more for… what are we doing right now?"

She stopped walking. He noticed and crawled to a stop ahead of her. He turned to face her, brows raised.

"We're… on our way to—"

"Are we having a conversation?"

He shook his head, eyes rolling, and started walking again.

"Keep up if you want to eat!" she heard him yell. Her brow furrowed but she chased after him.

"We are!" she said. He kept shaking his head. A smirk was playing on his face.

"Do you… do you _like me, _Draco Malfoy?"

He was chuckling, not looking at her.

"If I _did_," he started, directing them around the corner toward the bakery they were headed toward, "what are the chances I would answer a direct question about it?"

She sighed, looked away, decided it wasn't really worth the mind game. She looked to him again. "But you _do…_ whether or not you're ready to tell me."

He nodded. "There it is," he said.

She reached for the door and held it out for him. He smirked. "How gentlemanly of you," he said. She waved him off.

A rosy, round witch in a brown and orange apron approached her, arms raised to greet them.

"Bonjour! Bienvenue à Magpies!" Hermione smiled to her.

"Merci. Devrions-nous nous asseoir?"

"Ah, oui," she answered. She nodded toward and empty table and Hermione lead Draco toward it.

"What did you say?" he asked. She glanced at him.

"Maybe I like this, not telling you what I'm saying to her thing." He shrugged, smiled at her.

"Maybe I like this, 'leaving you here in France' thing."

"Shut up," she said. She reached for a folded menu on the side of the table and opened it up to read. "Not going to take a look?"

"Doesn't matter. I can't read French."

She flipped her menu toward him, open. "There are pictures."

"Those are _drawings_. Anything you can cook, you can make look appetizing with a bloody drawing."

"Fine, fine," she said, looking it over, herself. The witch approached her looking excitedly over a small blank notebook.

"Oui, madame?"

"Nous aurons la special, s'il vous plait."

"Oui, oui, choix excellent"

"Merci!"

She hurried away. She folded the menu and placed it back in the side container. He was looking at her, brows raised.

"What?" she asked.

"What are we having?"

"Don't you trust me?"

He looked away. He didn't, she knew. But… this was just _lunch_. He was going to have to start somewhere. It might as well have been French cuisine!

Before she had much time to wonder about whether or not she was going to need to explain the choices to him and let him make his own decision, the witch was hurrying back over with a heaping plate of roasted goat cheese and thyme. Her stomach rumbled.

"Et pour le déjeuner?" she asked Hermione as slid the plate of steaming cheese onto the table. Her drool was threatening to spill over.

"Le saumon et riz," she said. The witch smiled, nodded, and walked away.

"Salmon and rice," Hermione said to Draco. He was staring at the goat cheese.

"What is that?" he asked. She giggled.

"It's goat cheese," she said.

"It's CHEESE?! You want to sit here and eat a brick of cheese?"

"Calling me fat?"

"Calling you bizarre."

"Taste it," she said, a forkful already in her mouth. She was so happy.

Like a petulant child he shrunk down in his seat. She rolled her eyes.

"You'll never experience happiness if you keep choose to keep reliving misery over and over, butthead. Try the cheese."

"Thank you, Doctor, for addressing the deepest causes of my woes in just one sentence." She waggled a piece of cheese at him on her fork.

"Eat the cheese!"

He sat up, lifted a fork and cut off a chunk. He popped it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He looked away. Her face cracked open with a wide grin.

"You love it," she said.

"It'll do," he answered. She was giggling like a fiend.

"You're still a butthead," she added. He shrugged.

"I'm a sexy butthead."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Speaking of sleeping… we're going to need to spend the night in Egypt in a reasonable place before we go off to parts unknown. I booked us a room at a muggle hotel. I had to… I didn't have any muggle money so… don't get all sodding perfect on me, but I—"

"You obliviated them. I understand."

* * *

Did being pregnant make her less regal? More reasonable? He could only hope one of those two things was true.

"You don't… mind?"

"No, I mean, it was a last minute thing. It won't _hurt_ them. I've had to do it."

"What about equality and no abuse of our powers? Muggle rights and all that?"

"See, that's the difference between us, I guess. I wouldn't hesitate to do it to a wizard either, under the right circumstances. At the end of the day, I was born with magical essence, and muggles aren't. Some muggles can do things I can't do. Life is what it is, fair or not. I understand making a sacrifice. What I _don't_ understand… is your sense of guilt."

He stared at her. "When did you grow feelings?" she asked.

When _did_ he grow feelings, he wondered… must have been recently. Not long ago he wouldn't have blinked an eye and he never would have bothered to tell her he'd done it. She was changing him. It was uncomfortable.

The fat witch arrived again with two plates of what looked like fish and rice. He could deal with that. She placed them down in front of them both and Hermione spoke to her again. It was steaming in front of him. Hermione was already tearing into it. He laughed at her in spite of himself… she didn't even notice. He took a bite and had to admit, it was pretty damn good.

He looked up from bliss to see her making an obscure face.

"You okay?"

"Yeah… I'm… I don't like this."

He chuckled again. "Why'd you order it?"

"I love salmon."

"Oh. Maybe you—"

"No, I… it's like I just… un-acquired a taste for it."

He swallowed hard. He knew that was a possibility. Without thinking he switched their plates, moved her fish onto his plate and gave her his rice.

"Probably just don't like the way they cooked it. Have my rice."

She looked down at her plate. Shit, it wasn't going to be enough, he realized. This was the inception. It was going to plant like a seed in her brain and before they were finished—perhaps even before they made it to Egypt, she'd have it figured out.

"We should get going soon," he said to her, trying to distract. She nodded.

"How much time is left?"

"About eight hours," he said.

"I'll probably sleep," she said. "I'm tired again, already."

He waved for the check, but the witch had already brought it over. He put enough money down for double the orders. He stood up.

"Let's get going."

* * *

Hermione woke up somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea and went right back to pondering what was going on inside of her. The test had revealed lots of things to her, it was true… but what were all these side effects no one had failed to mention? And every time she succumbed to one, Draco could barely look at her. Was it guilt? He definitely seemed to be feeling it, lately. She wondered, but she didn't quite want to know the answer. If he DIDN'T know what was wrong with her… if it was something else altogether… her head was spinning. It was a bad idea for her to be thinking of this in midair, she knew. She needed to push it aside. He was taking care of her, at least… of course that also gave proof to his guilt.

"See the tall reeds by the edge of the water?" she heard him ask, breaking her from her thoughts.

"That's where we're going?"

"That's Egypt. We're here," he said. He was pulling the broom into a landing. There was a big hotel at the edge of the water. She smiled.

"It's gorgeous," she said.

"We'll have to go the rest of the way on foot," he said, standing, letting his broom stand next to him. Her legs wobbled a little as they found solid ground.

Together, they started off for the hotel.

"I'll give you some time to freshen up, find some food and bring it up for us. I'm sure you'll wanna sleep for six or seven more days before we start heading for Giza."

She chuckled. "Sounds good to me. But I'd rather have our answers than a good night's sleep."

"I'll give you both," he said as they neared the entrance of the hotel. "Just… not six or seven days of them."

Hermione looked around the hotel room. Alone at last, she needed some time to let her head froth over all the knowledge she'd been accumulating over the last few months.

She dropped down on the bed. It was fluffy and nice. She lay back on it and let her hair spread out around her… too soon, she thought.

She rose and walked to the bathroom.

She popped the light on and stood face to face with a gorgeous floor to ceiling mirror behind a lovely clawfoot-sink and adjoining tub. She was not marveling at the beauty of the bathroom, however… but at herself.

She stepped forward, looking into the mirror, her hands rising to feel her cheeks. She felt firm, young, and supple. She looked healthy—healthier than she had in years. Her skin was tan, and dewey. Her hair was larger than life, but in a windblown, modelesque sort of way. She swallowed.

She let her jacket fall onto the ground behind her and pulled her shirt up over her head. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her waist was nicely defined… her hips were rounded instead of sharp and angular… her breasts were firm, practically sitting up on her chest, straining against her bra. She slid it off and looked at herself. She let her jeans fall away. She walked toward the tub and spun the dial, letting the water stream down into the basin. Steam began to roll around the air in the bathroom. She looked back into the mirror, in only the pair of panties she'd stepped into before dashing out the door.

She wondered how long she'd been beautiful. Ron had never told her. He'd complimented her loads of times, of course… he'd never been abusive in any way… but he'd never told her she was beautiful. She _felt_ beautiful, like this… with him.

A blush crawled into her cheeks. She hopped into the tub, stepping out of her panties. She felt her hair absorbing the water eagerly like a sponge. It was heavy and hung long and wet down her back, nearly reaching her butt. She drank in a bit of the water, and pushed it back out of her mouth, letting it run down her chin and chest.

She turned so her back was to the wall and opened her eyes. She could see herself in the mirror, still. She swallowed. He was changing her, she realized… things felt stronger… more alive… more vivid. She _saw_ herself… or, she saw less of the things she didn't like… she couldn't tell which.

The door opened. It didn't even occur to her to cover herself. She wasn't embarrassed. She was bloody perfect.

Draco was in the doorway, no jacket, bags in his hands. He cocked his head, drinking her in. He stashed the bags on the bedroom dresser and closed the bathroom door behind him, striding into the room. He tossed his tee shirt on the floor. His hair was already clingy with steam.

"I think you did that on purpose," he accused her. She looked him over with heavily lidded eyes.

"When did you become so…" she couldn't find the words—quite unlike her. He was sliding off his belt. His jeans were slightly loose on his hips. He let them fall away. He had on black silk boxers.

"You're one to talk," she said, nodding to his shorts. "You don't wear underwear like that unless you're planning on someone else seeing them," she stated. He walked toward her, letting his arms pose himself on either side of her head. She was looking up to meet his eyes. His hair was falling into them.

"We're sharing a bed, love. There's just about every chance that you'll be seeing them… or the lack thereof."

His lips closed around her bottom lip and she uttered a small sigh. She let her arms come up to circle him around his back. He worked his magic, standing between her legs while the hot water pushed them further down the path. He was sucking on her throat, the delicate space between her collarbone and where the water had collected. She shuddered.

She felt him lifting her legs by the back of her knees and she crossed them behind her back. As soon as she did, he carried her out of the bathroom and dropped her on the bed. He climbed on top of her and restored his mouth to hers. She was electric, sensation coursing through every muscle, every nerve. Her hands curled around his shoulders. He lifted them off, pinned them behind her head. His wand was next to her on the bed. He reached for it, used the tip of it to wrap around her wrists, and both of the bedposts. She felt her arms going stiff next to her. She looked from one to the other. She was wholly out of breath and a little confused.

"S&M is for couples who trust one another, Draco," she said.

"True," he said, planting kisses on her neck, her collarbone, between her breasts… "But for some reason… I seem to recall you wanting nothing more than—"

"Draco—"

"For me to tie you down… so you couldn't get away…" he was trailing his tongue over her navel. Her eyes rolled back. She gasped.

"I don't know that I want—"

"Do yourself a favor," he said slowly, his hands on her knees, pushing them apart, running them up to her thighs, his tongue tickling her innermost thigh. "Let me prove you wrong."

He lowered his head and she couldn't breathe. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced. She was so hot his tongue felt almost cold to her, and it was fast and raking over her. It was teasing her clit and darting in and out of her and she was shaking with it. She was swearing, she could hear somewhere off in space. Her whole body was stiff and she was growing steadily louder, and it wasn't just her she realized. He was moaning into her, against her, all around her. He was getting off on her. She exploded against him, and almost as soon as it started, he was inside her with his full length, pushing into her, driving her even higher. The next ten minutes were the longest and shortest she'd ever experienced. Her whole body was on fire, tensed, shaking, and she was screaming with his every thrust. She was drenched in sweat. He was lifting her legs, driving himself in deeper. Suddenly, she felt his seed hot inside her, filling her, expanding out and for a final time, she came again.

He collapsed on top of her and her vision went fuzzy as she closed her eyes. She thought her head was spinning before, it was nothing compared to now. Her hands lay on top of her stomach, between them, feeling her breath rise and fall. She thought of her magical essence… so feminine in location… everything that made her a woman was located in the same area… gender, sexuality… energy… it all made sense. She opened her eyes. He was looking at her, smirking, his eyes following the gentle curves of her body.

"What?" she asked him.

"First time?" he asked her. She rolled her eyes.

"I could lie and say 'Yes' if that would help to feed your starving ego."

"Actually, 'No' feeds it a little better. Cause that was definitely the best you've ever had," he said.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"Call it a hunch," He said. She rolled over. He hugged her from behind. She stiffened a little, then relaxed.

"If I asked you a direct question… would you consider giving me a direct answer?"

He spread the blanket over the two of them. It felt cold and nice against her hot, wet skin.

"I'd consider it," he said.

"Was it _your_ first time?" she asked. For a moment, he said nothing, tracing his fingers over her hipbone. Then suddenly, he bent low and kissed her earlobe. She smiled.

"Sky's the limit, then," she said.


End file.
